


Dissembled

by mismatchingsocks



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad makes an appearance too, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), We love a Peter Parker and Tony Stark father/son relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mismatchingsocks/pseuds/mismatchingsocks
Summary: Peter Parker loses his spider-sense; consequently, he loses his touch with reality too.





	1. May

**Author's Note:**

> Dissembled (verb): to give a false or misleading appearance to; conceal the truth or real nature of.

The bonfire wasn’t Peter’s idea.

Peter may have briefly mentioned it to May one night, throwing it out there and not really expecting it to stick. 

It was 11 o’clock at night, and May had only just come home. Her long day at work had clearly taken a toll on her; she slumped down onto the couch without even taking her shoes off. May heaved a sigh of relief at finally being able to have her feet off the ground and relax in the comfort of her own home. 

Peter cuddled up closer to his knitted blanket and nudged himself further into the fabric of his armchair, trying to ward off the winds that snuck themselves inside when May had shut the apartment’s front door. One side of his face was shadowed as he turned his head toward May, but his profile glowed a light blue from the TV screen. He reached for the remote and turned down the TV’s volume. 

“Have you ate dinner yet, Peter?” May asked him. Her voice was always strong no matter how tired she was feeling. 

“No, but I made some,” Peter replied. “I was waiting until you got home. It’s on the stove.”

Even in the dark room, Peter could see the softness of May’s smile. 

“C’mon, then,” May said, getting up from the couch. “You didn’t have to wait on me, but I appreciate it.” 

Peter threw off the blanket that kept him warm that chilly October night. Earlier he had made the perfect comfort food: chicken-noodle soup. Well, heated up some soup. From a can. That alone was good enough for being in high school, Peter thought. Soon enough, he would be a better cook than May. At the rate he was going, it would happen really soon, hopefully. 

“You’re home late.” Peter noted as he poured some soup into two glass bowls, eyeing May as he did so. 

“And you’re home early.” May quipped. The two of them sit down at their table. “Why’s that?”

Peter shrugged. He hunched over his bowl of soup, swirling his spoon and the noodles along with it. 

“You don’t get to just shrug at me— you know better,” May said. “Look at me. What’s wrong?” 

Peter looked up, but he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

“I just…” he trailed off. What was he supposed to say? Nothing was really wrong. Maybe he really just wanted to be home in time for his favorite show that started at 10. Maybe he wanted to take the extra time to study for his Spanish quiz rather than try to commit 30 vocab words to his short-term memory the next morning. Maybe he wanted to get more than 4 hours of sleep and look a bit more fresh-faced for MJ, like that would help his cause any. 

Maybe he just really missed May and wanted to spend time with her. 

Imagine his disappointment when she wasn’t there. 

“It’s not that I’m complaining or anything— I love coming home to an apartment with you in it for once,” May said, getting up to fill herself a glass of water from the sink. She sat back down afterwards, setting her glass on the table and leaving a ring of water on its wood. “I miss you, Peter. I feel like we are always coming and going, and we miss each other.”

Peter nodded. “I get that. I do. I’ve missed you lately, too.” 

The two of them never talked outright about Peter’s after-school habits. About patrolling. About being Spider-Man. May worried enough about it all on her own without Peter having to bring it up. He never gave her much to go on since he rarely ever came home worse for wear. But when Peter left the apartment every morning, he could still see the concern in her eyes when she told him to have a good day and to _be safe, please. Please._

“This was just an off day,” May said to him. “I’ll be home earlier tomorrow. Maybe we can actually have dinner and not a late-night snack.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” Peter began. “You have any fun plans?” 

May scoffed. “No, do you?” 

Peter paused. "Actually… maybe?” 

May dropped her spoon in her bowl, and she became the most lively Peter had seen her all night.

“Are you serious? You’ll actually do something a normal teenager would do for once?” May asked, bewildered at the thought. Peter rolled his eyes, smirking. 

“How about I ask you for permission first like a ‘normal teenager’ would do?” Peter asked instead. It proved to be redundant. Even though May did her best, she was never the authoritarian type. She was too excited for Peter to show interest in things other than his “internship.”

“You’re right— you’re 15 and you still need my permission to do most things.” May said. She was pulling a sarcastic smile now too. “So what is it?” 

“The decathlon team is having a bonfire at Flash’s place,” Peter answered. “It’s supposed to help boost team morale for the new season. Ned’s roping me into it, really. I didn’t want to go; I’d really rather—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” May said, pointing her spoon at him. “You’re going.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to ask, like, what time is it? Will his parents be there? Is there going to be alcohol—”

“Hey, I’m still getting used to this too, okay? The whole ‘you-asking-me-for-permission’ thing?” May said, getting up to put her and Peter’s empty bowls and the rest of their dishes into the sink. Peter made a mental note to wash them in the morning or else they would sit there all weekend. 

“I know,” Peter said softly. “I know.” 

The two of them fell quiet. May sat back down in her chair, and she was staring at Peter. It was not in an accusing way. It was not somber either. It was sentimental. She was committing to memory a normal night, having a normal conversation with her normal teenage nephew, Peter Benjamin Parker. 

It was like how it was before. 

“Seriously, no drinking though, okay?” May finally broke the silence. “But if you really have to, call me. I don’t want you and Ned wandering around Queens drunk. You’re too young; you’ll stick out too much.” 

“‘If I really have to’?” Peter quoted, laughing. “Can I even get drunk? You know… with my metabolism.” 

“I don’t know, but you’re not testing it out tomorrow night,” May stated, “...maybe some other time.” 

May stood up and walked around the table to Peter’s chair. She put her arms around his shoulders, giving him a hug. He nudged his nose in her arm as she held him tight. 

“Thanks, May,” Peter said. “I won’t stay out too late. Promise.” 

She kissed him on the top of his head. 

“This bonfire is a great idea.” May mumbled into his curls. “You should think of stuff like this more often. It makes your Aunt May happy.” 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Peter said, shaking his head, “but I’ll take credit for it. Ned can just deal with it.” 

She gave him a grin, but soon it turned into a yawn. 

“I’m heading to bed,” she said. “You should too. Turn the TV off before you go though,” 

May ruffled his hair as she pulled away from, earning a cringe from Peter as she walked toward her bedroom. 

“‘Night, May,” he called out across the apartment. “Love you.” 

“I love you, too. Sleep well.” she replied. Within the next minute, Peter heard her flip her bedroom light off and the springs of the bed mattress give in. 

Peter left the kitchen and went toward the chair that he was lounging in earlier. He lifted the blanket to find the remote shoved far down in between the chair’s cushion and its armrest. He turned around to face the TV to press the remote’s red off button, but he stopped short. 

The 11 o’clock news was still on. 

6 hours ago, there was a break-in at an apartment complex. 

4 hours ago, there was a robbery at a restaurant near Midtown Science High School. 

1 hour ago, there was a shooting not even a few blocks from their apartment. 

He should have heard that one. He would have, if he were paying attention. If he were out there patrolling, not under a blanket while all these crimes were happening. 

He tried to swallow his guilt, but it left a bad taste in his mouth, one that he couldn't shake. It wasn’t one that even soup with May could fix. 

All the comfort that came with May and having a normal night didn’t do anything for him now. 

His heart in his chest was throbbing against his ribcage. It beat harder when he realized how many people were hurt tonight. His cheeks flushed a searing red, burning with the feeling of oh god, what have I done?

“I…” Peter’s voice fell around the vowel. His lips started to quiver. 

Whatever lecture or snarky comment he wanted to give, the criminals couldn’t hear him. Whatever apology or atonement he wanted to say, the victims definitely couldn’t hear him either. The words now get stuck in his throat, and he felt like he had to gasp for air. 

It was his all fault; he was sure of this. Everyone knew it. They all blamed him, and they were right for it, Peter believed. He could have been there. He should have been there, at every single one of them. The people of Queens— they were counting on him, always. He had a responsibility to them, always. He let go of that responsibility tonight.

Peter looked down at the floor. The shame had fully rushed over him, and he sniffled his nose. He struggled to hold back a few tears, but they were already well on their way down his cheeks, clouding his vision. He turned the TV off and threw the remote back in the chair. 

Criminals never took the night off, so neither could Spider-Man. Neither could Peter. 

He had to do better. 

\--

Peter took the subway on his way home from school, like he always had. 

He wore his headphones like he always had too. His senses had been dialed to 11 for months now, and riding the subway wasn’t the most serene environment. The lurching. The doors jerking to a close. The jumble of smells. More and more people squeezing in closer and closer to him. So many conversations, loud, all at once. With his headphones in, he could at least focus. He could concentrate on the song’s lyrics, reciting them to himself like a poem to find tranquility against such a bustling backdrop. 

Peter was on his way home, but he wasn’t supposed to be. 

He had told May that morning that he was going straight to Ned’s place after school; they’d then go over to Flash’s house for the bonfire later that evening. But Peter hadn’t slept at all last night, and he had been distracted all day. He could hardly remember the vocab words he had studied for his Spanish test. His mind was preoccupied some place else, outside of that classroom. Outside of his school. Outside of his and May’s apartment. 

He had gone through this before, feeling a need that he could be doing more. He _should_ be doing more. He has had his powers for over a year now. He knew what he was capable of doing. He had his suit. He had Karen. He had Mr. Stark. 

So why shouldn’t he be doing more? 

Why was he wasting his time and effort going to some bonfire? 

The train tottered to a stop once again, its passengers leaning along with it. Peter shuffled his way through the maze of people to its doors and stepped off onto the platform. He headed toward the staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and emerged aboveground to meet the city streets of Queens. 

He kept his head down, headphones in, and hands shoved in his pockets. He only looked up when he got inside his apartment and shut the door behind him. 

“Peter, is that you?” 

_Shit._ Peter cringed. He forgot May would be home early tonight. 

“Yeah, I’m just grabbing something real quick,” Peter shouted across the apartment. He took his headphones out and unthreaded them from his sweatshirt. 

“I thought you said you were going to Ned’s after school?” May asked, her voice echoing in the bathroom. 

“Yeah, I am. I just needed to grab something and then I’ll be heading out again,” Peter answered. He rushed into his bedroom, opening his closet door. 

“What are you grabbing?” 

_Where is it?_

“Uhh, just another jacket, in case it gets cold tonight,” Peter lied. He started throwing clothes from their hangers onto the floor. 

_Where is it? It's always right here—_

“You looking for a specific kind of jacket?” May was now standing in his doorway. 

Peter faltered. 

She rose her eyebrows, staring suspiciously at him. 

“Where is it, May?” Peter asked, trying but failing to keep the accusations from slipping into his voice. “Did you take my—” 

“I don’t think you’ll need your suit for a bonfire, Peter,” May replied. She turned away from his doorway. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Peter started to panic. He followed her around the apartment, trailing behind her as she turned toward the kitchen. “May, you don’t understand. I- I need it—” 

“What on earth for, Pete? Seriously, you don’t need to rely on that suit for everything,” May said. 

Peter’s head was pounding. She had never done this before. She had never _taken his suit_. He had to get it back. 

“May, please,” Peter couldn’t keep himself from begging. “Okay, look— the bonfire’s been cancelled. Ned never wanted to go. I- it was never real. I need the suit tonight. Okay?” 

May stopped in her tracks. She spun around to look at her nephew, disbelief and disappointment all over her face.

She shook her head, angrily. 

“What the _hell_ has gotten into you?” 

“May, please—” 

“Seriously, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” May was fuming. “You’re lying to me now? W- what is this? Is this something Stark has got you doing?” 

“May, you don’t get it!” Peter pleaded. He was balling his fists with the sleeve of his sweater. “You won’t understand—” 

“Try me,” May gritted the sentence through her teeth. Her voice continued to raise with every next word she spoke. “I don’t know what’s going on with you that makes you think lying to me is okay when it never has been before—” 

“I feel _guilty!_ ” Peter shouted over her. 

May blinked at him, shutting her mouth and crossing her arms. She waited for him to continue. 

Peter didn’t know what to say. 

“I-I feel _so guilty,_ ” Peter repeated. He spoke slowly, finding his words. “Last night, I didn’t put on the suit. And it kept me awake all night. So many people got hurt last night. _So many people,_ May. I could’ve helped them. I _should've_ helped them. I should’ve been _out there_. Not here.” 

Tears were welling in his eyes, and May could tell. She stepped toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Peter…” she began to say his name, but he started shaking his head. 

“I’ve missed you so much, May, but I should have been helping them last night,” his voice broke. “I’m the only one who helps them. And I wasn’t there for them last night. It’s all my fault. All of it, May.” 

May pulled him into her, and Peter buried his face into her shoulder, tears dripping. 

“Peter,” May spoke softly into his curls, “The world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. It shouldn’t.” 

May hugged her arms tighter around him, and Peter held onto her. His breaths became more even, but his eyes were still watering and his nose was still running. He sniffled, pursing his lips. 

“God, you’re only 15 years-old, Pete,” May said. “All the blame shouldn’t fall on you.” 

May took him by the shoulders to face her. Peter bit his bottom lip as she wiped his tears away with her thumb. She looked him in the eyes. 

“All the responsibility doesn’t fall on you. It shouldn’t, Pete.” May said softly. “You don’t deserve that.” 

Peter couldn’t believe her. He couldn’t will himself to think that just because he was young, all the responsibility that came along with having his powers was diminished. He couldn’t believe that just because Spider-Man had an aunt that he missed and wanted to spend time with, the blame for all that happened last night couldn’t be placed entirely on him. 

But May could separate Spider-Man from Peter Benjamin Parker. She could differentiate a neighborhood crime-fighter from a 15 year-old Midtown Science student. She could tell the difference between a superhero and an overburdened teenager. 

And she was right. 

Peter Parker didn’t deserve all that guilt. 

“Okay, May,” Peter whispered. “Okay.” 

He had stopped crying now, but his eyes were still red and raw. He sniffed his nose again and rubbed his face with his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked, but he meant it still. 

“I get it, Peter,” she replied. “I understand you. I really do. You just have to talk to me.” 

Peter nodded. He looked down at his feet, crossing his arms against his chest and holding himself now. May lifted his chin with her index finger. 

“You’re going to that bonfire tonight,” she told him. 

“I know.” 

“With Ned.” 

“I know.” 

“Without the suit.” 

“...Okay.” 

“And you’re going to have a _good time,_ all right?” May told him. “You’re going to have a good time with your friends, and you’re not going to feel guilty about it. You shouldn’t, Pete. You can’t. You can’t keep living like that.” 

“Okay, May,” Peter said. “I hear you.” 

May smiled at him warmly. 

“You better get going,” she insisted. “Ned is probably wondering where the hell you’re at.” 

Peter agreed. He made sure he had his phone and his keys in his pocket and made toward the door. He turned its doorknob. 

“You’re going to tell me where you’ve hidden my suit when I get back, right?” Peter asked. 

“I’ll have it back in your closet by then,” May answered, “But I want you to go to bed when you get back since you didn’t sleep much last night, okay? Preferably after you’ve taken a shower, though. I don’t want the apartment smelling like smoke.” 

“Okay, May, I will,” Peter replied. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” she said with a wave. “Have fun tonight.” 

Peter grinned. He left the apartment and didn’t turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far!! Let me know what you think by leaving a comment below! 
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr at [mismatchingsocks!!](http://mismatchingsocks.tumblr.com/)


	2. Ned

Ned’s house was only a short walk from his own, but Peter still had to book it if he were to get there at a reasonable time, one that wouldn’t led to Ned leaving Peter angry voicemails on his phone. 

Leaves crunched under Peter’s feet as he rounded the corner. They continued to fall onto the sidewalk as the wind knocked them off the tree branches, having them flutter down to color the dull concrete below. Peter’s favorite time of the year was just before autumn met winter; it was a perfect middle ground. Even though nature was dying around him, it still was mesmerizing. Color continued to shade his surroundings, this time with the warm colors of fall captivating him instead of the cool blues and greens of summer. There was nothing like noticing a soft blur of reds and oranges as he swung from building to building. He would miss those colors in a few short months when winter would not only numb his spider-sense but also deaden the warmth in the world as reds and oranges turned to browns and greys. 

Peter soon knocked on the door to Ned’s house. It swung open less than a second later, as if Ned had been patiently pacing on the other side of it, waiting for the moment his best friend would arrive. When Peter was welcomed by a flustered-face Ned, Peter guessed that Ned had actually been doing just that. 

“You’re late.” Ned greeted him. Peter scratched the back of his neck nervously. He didn’t want to have to explain his fight with May. 

“Yeah…” Peter trailed off, looking sheepishly at him. Ned stepped aside from the doorway to let Peter in. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Sorry.”

And that was that. Peter was thankful. 

Once he kicked off his shoes by the door, Peter followed Ned into his room. They had an hour to kill before heading to Flash’s place. 

“Did you bring the suit?” Ned asked. 

“No, why would I do that?” 

“I dunno,” Ned shrugged. “What if the bonfire suddenly gets out of control and everything bursts into flames and you save the day by shielding me with your suit? It’s fire resistant, right?” 

Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, it is. Had to test that out once,” Peter replied. “I guess you’ll just have to stop, drop, and roll instead.” 

“If I die tonight, it’s your fault.”

“Noted.” 

Peter hopped onto Ned’s bed, bouncing a bit as its springs adjusted. Ned pulled two Coke bottles out of his mini fridge. 

“Dinner is served,” Ned said as he gave one to Peter. Ned sat down in his chair by his computer, swiveling around in it. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, “I haven’t eaten all day.” 

“Dude, that’s not good for you, is it?” Ned asked, concerned. 

Peter shook his head, downing his Coke in one go. He’d been thirsty all day too. He had felt so full of guilt earlier that he had skipped lunch. 

Ned rustled around on his desk to find an unopened bag of Doritos, giving them to Peter. 

“Second course?” Ned offered, and Peter took the bag from him, smiling gratefully. 

Peter looked around Ned’s room as he munched on the chips. It hadn’t changed much over the years that Peter and Ned had been friends. There were mostly just more and more additions to Ned’s growing collection of Star Wars memorabilia. 

“Is that one new?” Peter said with his mouth full as he pointed out a new Lego Star Wars Sandspeeder box sitting on Ned’s bookshelf. 

“Yeah, I just bought it last weekend!” Ned exclaimed. “We can totally build it tomorrow if you want.” 

“ _Or_ we could build it now and skip the bonfire?” Peter suggested instead, eyebrows raised hopefully. 

“But then you won’t get to see MJ,” Ned remarked. “You’ll miss out on the way her face will glow in the moonlight—”

“Shut up,” Peter laughed. He threw a Dorito at Ned. 

“Do you really not want to go? Because we can get a head start with the base of it tonight—”

“No, no, no, I do want to go,” Peter interrupted. “It’s just…” 

Peter sighed. He crumbled up the empty Doritos bag and threw it across Ned’s room into the wastebasket. The setting sun casted a orangy-red hue in Ned’s room through the paned window. Peter looked back at Ned, shaking his head.

“What is it, Peter?” Ned asked again.

“I mean, the last girl I liked— her dad ending up being a supervillain? So I’m.. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.” Peter said dejectedly. 

“C’mon, not everyone’s dad is going to be like Liz’s,” Ned replied. “What are the chances MJ’s dad is going to be your next enemy?” 

Peter began thinking about it, calculating the chances in his head. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean for you to take that literally. It’s Friday night; we don’t do math,” Ned stated. “If you’re so worried about it, why don’t you just ask her?” 

“ _Ask her?_ ” Peter mocked. “Ask her what? If her dad’s some kind of bad guy?”

“Yeah, just be like, ‘Hey, does your dad have an irrational grudge against Tony Stark that he’ll later take out on a high school sophomore by trying to kill them in a wingsuit made from stolen alien tech?’”

Peter blinked at Ned. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over real well.” 

“What’s the harm in asking?” Ned shrugged. “She already thinks you’re weird.” 

Peter pouted. “You’re not wrong.” 

“I’m always right,” Ned replied, smirking. “That’s why I’ve always got the best ideas.” 

“Sure you do.” Peter replied, scoffing. He jumped off Ned’s bed. “Let’s go grab some actual dinner before going to Flash’s. Delmar’s reopened the other day— want a sandwich?” 

“Dude, when do I not want a sandwich?” Ned replied, getting up from his chair and meeting Peter by the door as the two slipped back on their shoes. “Sandwiches are a good idea.” 

“Always,” Peter agreed. The two of them headed out the door, locking it behind them. “Especially when they’re smooshed down real flat.” 

\--

By the time Peter and Ned arrived at Flash’s home, the moon had already made its first appearance in the sky that night low among the stars. 

The two of them walked around the house to Flash’s backyard, and they were met with the warmest of welcomes from Flash himself. 

“Hey, everyone!” Flash exclaimed. “It’s Penis Parker!” 

Peter cringed and gave an awkward wave. “Thanks, Flash.” 

“Not a problem,” Flash said, walking toward Peter and slinging an arm around his shoulders. Peter could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Drinks are over by the porch. S’mores by the bonfire. Enjoy yourselves.” 

Flash left Peter and Ned to greet the other members of the decathlon team who had just arrived as well. Peter looked over at Ned who shrugged back at him. 

“Even if he knew you saved his life at Nationals, I think still he’d be mean to you.” Ned said. 

“You’re probably right,” Peter sighed, looking around the backyard. Lantern lights were hung along the porch railing, and there was music playing softly in the background. It brought a sense of warmth to the dark and cool night. “C’mon, let’s get what we came for.” 

Ned’s mood brightened as they walked over to the bonfire, sitting in the lawn chairs placed around the flickering flames. Abe from the decathlon team handed Ned two sticks with two marshmallows each on the end of them. 

“Dessert?” Ned asked, offering one to Peter. Peter rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie before taking it from Ned, smiling. 

“Thanks,” Peter replied. 

He held the stick near the bonfire and watched the marshmallows slowly turn brown and gooey from the heat. As he waited, the fire burned and crackled in front of him, and Peter couldn’t help himself but zone out a bit. How many more times would he roast marshmallows like this with Ned and the rest of the decathlon team? He still had the rest of his sophomore year and then two years after that, but would he really stay that long? 

For months, Peter had been dying to get away from Midtown. He was always longing to get a head start on his life as an Avenger and leave high school behind, but ever since turning down Tony’s offer, all he had thought about since was how long this all would last. How long would he stay here in Queens? How long would he keep pushing off the inevitable? He knew he couldn’t only be a neighborhood Spider-Man for long. Would he finish high school before committing himself fully to the Avengers? Would he make it to college? How long could he keep up being Spider-Man and staying in school—

“Peter, your marshmallows are on fire!” 

_Shit._

Peter quickly pulled his stick away from the fire, but it was too late; his marshmallows had already melted off and fallen among the fire pit’s ashes. Abe shook his head disappointedly, standing up and leaving Peter to bask in his own embarrassment. 

Ned handed Peter two more marshmallows. Peter mouthed a thank you. 

“I can tell you’re overthinking about something again,” Ned nudged Peter in the arm. “It’s Friday night; we don’t overthink.” 

Peter smirked at Ned. When he began roasting his marshmallows once more, MJ joined them in their circle around the bonfire. Peter kept his gaze between her and his marshmallows, careful not to let another distraction catch them on fire again. 

“You know, I think there are two types of people in the world,” Ned began to say to Peter but loud enough for MJ to incidentally overhear. “Those who lightly roast their marshmallows and those who burn them on purpose.” 

MJ glared at Ned as she stuck her marshmallows straight into the fire. Flames swirled around them before she blew them out and smooshed the blackened marshmallows between two graham crackers. She looked Ned right in the eye as she ate them in spite. 

“Great, you’ve offended our team captain.” Peter muttered in Ned’s direction. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Ned defended. “MJ, I’m so sorry. You’re still valid even though you burn your marshmallows. Please forgive me and my ignorance.” 

“Whatever,” MJ replied, rolling her eyes. “You guys are losers. I’m getting a drink.” 

“I didn’t know you drink?” Peter mentioned as MJ stood up. He immediately regretted it, hoping he didn’t come off as too judgemental. 

MJ stared at him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted. “Of course I don’t. Everyone here is just drunk because they had Flash pour his parents’ whiskey in their Cokes. I’m getting one that isn’t spiked.” 

“Oh,” Peter mumbled to himself, nodding. 

Ned was right; her face did glow in the moonlight. It was probably her highlighter, but Peter didn’t care. 

“Do you want me to get you one too?” MJ asked him. 

Peter perked up. “No, but thanks.” 

_Don’t read too much into it. She’s just being polite._ Peter still smiled to himself once she turned around to walk away, leaving him and Ned alone by the bonfire. He tried hiding his smile from Ned, but it was already too late. He knew Ned would tease him for his heart-eyes later. 

“I think you should tell MJ,” Ned said.

“Tell MJ what?” Peter replied. 

“That you’re Spider-Man.” 

Peter scoffed. “That’s your worst idea yet, Ned.” 

“C’mon— she’s the team captain,” Ned tried to explain himself. “If you’re going to keep ditching us like last time, she won’t put up with you. She might be more understanding if she knew.” 

“I’ll take my chances,” Peter replied. He took his marshmallows, reached over to grab some chocolate and graham crackers, and made himself a s’more. He munched on it slowly. “Besides, I haven’t even actually told anyone. You found out on accident. So did May. Mr. Stark and Toomes put it together themselves— maybe MJ will figure it out on her own.” 

“No, she’ll just think you’re some flaky 15-year-old who doesn’t have his shit together.” 

“I _am_ a 15-year-old who doesn’t have his shit together,” Peter remarked. “But I’m also Spider-Man.” 

Ned laughed to himself, shaking his head at Peter as he turned away. 

Peter wasn’t completely swayed by Ned’s ideas this time around, but he still thought about it. It would be easier if MJ knew that Peter was juggling both Academic Decathlon and being Spider-Man— Peter agreed with that. He never knew when he had to slip away from practice at a moment’s notice, and he would have one less teammate yelling at him whenever he did if MJ knew. 

But MJ already had a lot on her plate as team captain; keeping Peter’s secret would only add onto her list of burdens. He couldn’t do that to her, not now. He couldn’t give her any more grief. He had to draw that line. 

Peter shifted in his chair to brush the thought away. He couldn’t tell MJ that he was Spider-Man. Absolutely not. He couldn’t even tell MJ that he liked her, for goodness’ sakes. It was an easy, simple sentence to say, but Peter felt that he would never have the guts to come out and say it. Peter fought Queens’ crooks and criminals on the daily, but confessing his feelings to a girl? That scared his 15-year-old mindset more than anything. 

Peter looked up and saw a glimpse of MJ on Flash’s porch, drinking her Coke and talking with her friends. He could hear her laugh across the backyard, and for a moment, Peter thought maybe I could do this. If he hauled himself up there, took her by the arm to a corner of the yard, and said _Hey, MJ, I’ve uh, got something to tell you, and it’s really important. Could you stop insulting me for one second so I can tell you? First of all—_

Peter probably would have gotten to that “first of all” if it weren’t for a tingling that took over his whole body. 

_Something's wrong._

Peter reached out to grab Ned’s shoulder, getting his attention. Ned’s gaze turned around, and he saw the hairs standing up on Peter’s arm. A look of horror fell on his face. 

“Please tell me that you’re just really cold and not that someone’s going to die,” Ned sputtered, the words frantically coming out of his mouth. 

“No, no, no— no one is going to—” but Peter couldn’t finish that statement. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be. 

A potential threat was lurking anywhere in the shadows of Flash’s backyard, and Peter only had a limited amount of time to catch sight of it. His eyes searched in every direction, but everything looked the same as it had before. While his spider-sense never pinpointed exactly where the danger was coming from, he could use its intensity to show him directionally where to go. 

But this time felt different.

The tingling was constant. Overwhelming, even. Every bone in his body felt like they were tons of pounds too heavy, and he couldn’t lift them. He usually reacted to his spider-sense reflexively and without a conscious thought. One single tingle and the bad guy would be on the ground crying, but not this time. He was out in the open on a dark night without his suit, knowing something was out to get him, knowing something was going to hurt him, and Peter didn’t have an idea of what he could do. With his body unable to move, he feared that there wasn’t anything he could do. 

Ned’s voiced echoed around him. “Peter? Peter, are you all right?” 

Peter’s breaths became short and sharp. He leaned forward in his chair, trying to ground himself. 

_W-What's happening to me?_

“Peter?” 

His vision was starting to go, and his head was spinning from the continued stimulus. He couldn’t remember a time when his spider-sense rendered him vulnerable like this, waiting for an impending threat instead of acting on it. For the first time, he wasn’t confident in his abilities to save himself. 

Peter was terrified. 

The sensory overload was unlike anything he had experienced before. Air kept filling his lungs, but he still felt suffocated. Smothered. There was a shrill ringing in his ears. Peter squeezed his eyes shut. He just wanted it to _stop_ , all of it. _Make it stop, please. Please._

“Pete-” 

He felt a sharp sting in the back of his neck. 

And then it was over. 

“Peter!” 

He gasped as all the feeling in his body slowly returned back to normal. He place a hand over his throbbing heart in his chest to calm himself down. 

“Peter, what the hell was that?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter finally replied to Ned with a raspy voice. He leaned back in his chair, still trying to catch his breath. He opened his eyes and met Ned’s. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

“No, but are you? You looked like you were going to pass out!” Ned exclaimed. 

“I’m good now. I’m good,” Peter breathed. He noticed he still had a death grip on Ned’s shoulder. He let go, relieving the tension that had been flooding his veins. “Sorry.” 

“What happened?” Ned asked. 

Peter gave him the best answer he could. “I think a mosquito bit my neck?” 

Ned almost laughed, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Your spidey-senses went all wack because of a mosquito?” 

“I guess?” Peter rubbed his face with his hands. He couldn’t explain any of it. 

“Your body really doesn’t want you to get bitten again,” Ned remarked. “I knew we should’ve brought bug spray...” 

As ashes from the bonfire fell on Peter’s jeans, he brushed them off. He stopped to rub the denim fabric between his fingers, trying to get a hold back on reality. Peter hadn’t felt trapped like that since Toomes dropped an entire building on him, but even in that situation, Peter could move. Peter could breathe. Peter could scream. He had actually done something to get himself out from underneath the beam that was crushing him. He had a way out of it. But this time around, Peter could only hope and plead for whatever it was that was trapping him would stop. Thankfully, it did, but he knew that it wouldn’t always stop when he wanted it to. 

Peter looked around. Everyone seemed fine. The music was still playing. Drinks were still being poured. Everything looked normal. The worst of it was over, and Peter was lucky. He couldn’t fathom what he would have done if there were an actual threat and his friends and teammates were in the middle of it, helpless and defenseless as Peter was powerless. 

But nothing bad had happened. Peter had to remember that. 

It was a mosquito bite. It was just a mosquito bite. 

Right? 

\--

When Peter woke up the next morning, he didn’t feel like himself. 

Walking back home from the bonfire last night, Peter felt a bit out of it, but he attributed it to staying up late yet another night in a row. He had thought that taking a warm shower and crawling into bed would help his cause; sleep cures everything, so surely he would feel better in the morning, right? 

Peter was wrong. He still felt the same as he did last night. 

He felt numb. 

It was already 11:30 a.m that Saturday morning. Peter was surprised May hadn’t woken him up by then, either by shaking him, shouting his name, or by burning something in the kitchen. He figured she knew he had gotten back late last night and didn’t want to risk disturbing a cranky teenager’s beauty sleep by telling him goobye before she left for work. Peter was partly grateful. He didn’t want to have to explain how he was feeling when he couldn’t even understand it himself. 

Peter sat up in his bed, stretching his arms and wriggling his fingers to rid any traces of sleepiness from his body so he could get a start on his day. 

Right. Patrolling. 

The moment his feet touched the floor, Peter fell back into his regular Saturday routine. Walking across the hall, he turned on the bathroom’s light to brush his teeth, squinting at himself in the mirror as his eyes adjusted to the brighter surroundings. His hair was matted to his forehead, still damp from his midnight shower. He ran his fingers through it, trying to tame his curls, but what did it matter anyways? A few hours in the suit, it’ll be sticking to the back of his neck again like always. No suit design of Mr. Stark’s could keep up with a sweaty teenager, Peter thought. It was just inevitable. 

Peter walked back to his bedroom and opened his closet. His suit was back in its place, safe and sound, just like May had promised. She was true to her word, always. Peter appreciated that. Not many adults were. 

He took off the clothes he had managed to throw on before going to sleep the night before. As he lifted his t-shirt above his head, he noticed a gaping hole in its side seam. 

_Could web fluid fix that? No, it would just dissolve. Or mess up the washer._ Peter made a mental note as he slipped on his mask that he would have to ask May later on how to sew it back together. 

Stepping into his suit, Peter pulled it up around his shoulders before tapping on his chest for it to enclose around his body. 

“Good morning, Peter!” 

“Hey, Karen,” Peter greeted back. 

“You are up later than usual— did you have an opportunity to sleep in?” 

“Yeah, I got to catch up on some hours. I was out late last night. Not patrolling, obviously, because I didn’t have the suit on. Which you already know because of some protocol, probably.” Peter rambled. 

“Yes, the last footage I have from the suit is from Wednesday evening.” 

“I know. I took a few days off,” Peter paced around his room. He tried not to feel guilty as he told Karen. Or feel stupid. It wasn’t like being Spider-Man was a 9-to-5 job where you could request vacation days; was there really such a thing as “taking a day off”? 

“I am glad you are back, Peter.” Karen replied. Peter smiled. It was nice to be missed, even if it was by his suit’s interface. 

Peter layed backed down on his bed with his arms outstretched and his legs hung over the side of the mattress. He wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of feeling off with Karen. If she knew that there was something the matter with him, surely she would ask him about it right off the bat? Karen hadn’t mentioned anything yet, and Peter cringed, knowing he would have to ask or else it would bother him all day. 

“Hey, Karen,” Peter began, taking a stab in the dark, “Could you maybe tell me what’s wrong with me?” 

“As I have told you before, Peter, you are an exceptionally talented person with many unique gifts. People who love you the most in life will accept your quirks all the same—” 

“No, no, no, no, no— that’s not what I meant,” Peter interrupted Karen. “I meant, like, physically? Is there something wrong with me?” 

Karen paused. She brought up his vitals on his mask’s heads up display. He glanced them over. 

“There’s nothing weird going on? Nothing at all?” Peter asked. 

“Other than an increased heart rate, everything appears to be within normal parameters.” Karen answered.

Peter hesitated. “Is it.. in my head?”

“You do not have a concussion. There is no unusual brain activity either.” Karen answered. “My diagnosis is you are still experiencing an emotional response to an occurrence that happened outside of the suit.”

“Really? Some doctor you are,” Peter scoffed. “I just slept for almost 12 hours. I’m so well-rested.”

“Sleep does not solve all physical or psychological problems, Peter.”

“Sure it does!” Peter insisted. “Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘sleep it off?’” 

“I have. I recall you saying the phrase many times after eating too much Thai food.”

“Let me tell you, Karen, sticky rice pudding is the best but only in small doses. I eat too much of it everytime.” 

“You should learn from your mistakes, Peter.” 

Peter kicked the floor. “Yeah, I know. I do.” 

He reached back to feel around his neck. Even through his suit’s material, Peter could tell that whatever mosquito bit him last night left a nasty bump. Peter shook his head. 

“I still feel weird today, Karen. I don’t know what it is.” Peter said. He stared up at his ceiling, shrugging his shoulders. 

“I can call Mr. Stark or Aunt May, if you would like. Perhaps one of them could help you better than I can, Peter.” Karen offered. 

“No, no, no, I’m fine. It’s not that big of a deal,” Peter assured, jumping up off his bed and back onto his feet. “I’m sure it’ll wear off soon. Don’t worry about it, Karen. I just need to get back into the swing of things— literally.” 

Peter made for his bedroom window, an old habit that still stuck with him. He used to only sneak out his window to avoid an unknowing May. Now that May knew about his patrolling, Peter did it for his neighbors’ sake. They would probably get suspicious if they were to see Spider-Man hurrying down their 7th floor hallway, Peter thought. 

Pushing back the curtains, Peter let that morning’s sunlight fill every crack and crevice of his room. He could feel a smile creeping up upon his lips as he opened the window, hearing the wind blowing gently and cars honking from the street down below. He could hardly contain his excitement; maybe two days without the suit was just what he needed to get mojo back.

“It’s going to be a good day, Karen!” Peter said as he put his legs out the window. 

He could feel the roughness of the brick as he grasped onto the side of the building, climbing up to the roof before jumping across to the next building and then the next. Running across rooftops felt exhilarating to Peter after not doing so for two days, and he couldn’t help but smile a childish grin. 

Below him was a wide alleyway between the building he was on and a taller one the next block over. Peter shot from his web-shooters toward the ledge of the building diagonally across from him, jumping off to swing in that direction...

But instead of swinging, Peter was falling. 

He frantically released another weave of web-fluid, but it didn’t catch either. Peter’s heart rate shot up in the mere seconds that he was plummeting down into a full, smelly dumpster. 

Something dug straight into his back when he landed, and Peter yelped. Rolling over, he saw a large plastic bin as the culprit behind his pain. He scrambled to pull himself out of the dumpster and back onto the ground where he could get his bearings. 

“What the hell was that?” Peter snapped, rubbing his back and whipping his head up toward the 12 story building he was only a few feet away from before. 

“You jumped off the rooftop and landed in a dumpster.” Karen answered. 

“What’s wrong with my web-shooters?” Peter asked, fuming. 

“Your web-shooters are working properly,” Karen replied. “...It looks like you missed, Peter.” 

“ _I missed?_ ” Peter repeated, aggravated as ever. “My aim is never off!” 

“You missed the building’s ledge by 1 meter.” Karen explained. 

Peter fought the urge to tear his mask off and pull out his hair. Instead, he paced back and forth, pointing a finger up toward the building. 

“This is _exactly_ what I was talking about, Karen! It’s like I can’t sense where I’m going, what I’m aiming- I’m shooting blind here!” 

“I can call Mr. Stark to look into-“ 

“Do _not_ call Mr. Stark!” Peter cut her off. He stopped himself short; he couldn’t get into it with his suit’s AI in the middle of an alleyway. That would just be weird. And disrespectful. Karen deserved better. He heaved a sigh. “Look, you’ve just gotta help me out a little more than usual today, okay? With my aiming?”

“Sure thing, Peter.” Karen responded, calm and collected as always. 

Peter felt his back again, knowing that the plastic bin would leave behind a dark bruise. Thankfully, its sharp edge didn’t break through his suit or his skin. Peter shook off the pain and began to scale the building until he was up at the top of it once more. 

“Let’s try this again...” Peter muttered, holding up his wrist. Karen pulled up its trajectory on his heads up display, zeroing in on its target point. Peter shot his webs, and when he saw that it did catch onto the building’s ledge this time, he hummed in relief. He leaped off the edge of the building, putting all his trust and weight onto his webbing.

Peter was soaring through Queens in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you guys think by leaving a comment below!
> 
> Each chapter will center around a character's relationship with Peter! Chapter one- May, chapter two- Ned, and so on! (I will keep it a surprise about which character will be next!) 
> 
> Also, the whole MCU timeline with Spider-Man: Homecoming and Infinity War and then Spider-Man: Far From Home and how many months are between each of them just confuses me, so to keep it simple, this takes place 1 month after Homecoming, just in case you were wondering!
> 
> As always, come say hi to me on tumblr at [mismatchingsocks!!](http://mismatchingsocks.tumblr.com/) I love talking to you guys!!


	3. MJ

Ever since the weekend ended and school returned the following Monday, Peter had spent his mornings before the 8 o’clock bell in his school’s library. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he was searching for answers to questions he didn’t know how to form in the first place. Since Karen hadn’t been much help providing him with either, Peter turned to the library. He knew he couldn’t become a neurologist overnight, even if he had more material than the library’s limited selection of books on the subject. But he knew there was _something_ wrong with him; he just didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t tell May about it. They couldn’t afford those doctor visits. And if Karen couldn’t tell him what was wrong with him, neither would the doctors, Peter thought. 

He couldn’t tell Mr. Stark either. He just couldn’t. Peter was so sure Mr. Stark would say that he was posing a risk to himself and to the rest of Queens if he couldn’t perform properly. 

So Peter kept his mouth shut about it. He couldn’t have the suit taken away from him again. 

Opening the glass door to the library, Peter reached around to grab his backpack and pulled out the book he had checked out the day before, dropping it off in the book return bin. He waved to the librarian, and she gave him a warm smile back along with a cheerful, “Good morning, Peter! It’s nice to see you again.” 

He had loved her ever since the first day of his freshman year when he stumbled upon the library to find a moment’s peace away from bustling hallways. Trying to catch his breath, Peter had leaned against the cool brick walls of the library, squeezing his eyes shut to calm his nerves. When he had opened them, his quiet surroundings wrapped its arms around him in a cozy and comforting hug. Peter had always found a home in the library. 

Heading for the back of the library, Peter snatched up a step stool along the way that he knew he needed. He could easily climb the towering shelves around him, but he didn’t feel like risking it. He still saw a few people with wandering eyes around. If they were to see him sticking to the top shelf of a bookcase at 7:50 a.m, Peter knew that any excuse he would try to make to blame it on their lack of caffeine wouldn’t work. 

Placing the wobbly stool on the carpet, Peter stepped up onto it and became eye-level to the section he had been returning to all week long. He grabbed the next book in line, hoping it would provide him with more answers than the last one had. He was coming up on desperate trying to find anything that would help him figure out the meaning behind how he had been feeling since the bonfire.

“Hey, Peter!” 

The book fell from Peter’s hand as he jumped from the sudden voice. He tried to catch his balance on the teetering stool, leaning against the bookshelf for support. Peter whipped his head around to see where the voice came from. 

“What the hell, _Ned?"_ Peter exclaimed in a sharp whisper. 

“What are you doing here?” Ned ignored Peter’s upset attitude.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Peter grumbled, stepping down off the stool. “I’m trying to get a book.”

Ned picked up the fallen book before Peter had the chance to do so, swiping it away from Peter as he tried grabbing it back, his cheeks burning. 

“I haven’t seen you before school starts all week! Is this where you’ve been? The library?” Ned looked down at the book he was holding away from Peter. “And since when do you read books that aren’t about computers? _‘The Anatomy of the Brain?’_ Have you been watching too much Grey’s Anatomy with May again? You know, you can just Google the words they say; you don’t have to read a whole book—” 

“Give it back, Ned!” Peter snapped and tore the book away from Ned’s hands. He held it close to his chest, avoiding Ned’s concerned glare. 

Ned paused, stepping back to give Peter some space. “You okay, Peter? You’ve been acting weird all week.” 

“I’ve been _feeling_ weird all week,” Peter quipped, “...and I can’t figure out why.” 

“Are you sick? I can go with you to the nurse’s office, if you want.” 

“No, no, no, I— I mean, Karen said there’s nothing wrong with me, and she’s basically a doctor? She scanned my insides and everything, and there’s nothing physically wrong with me, but I feel weird.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ned acknowledged, “like, weird as in how?”

Peter thought about it. “Like… dazed? I feel like I’m kind of just, here? And everything around me is just kind of… there? My senses are usually dialed to 11, and now they’re not. I mean, you’ve just scared me for the first time in months, and I felt like I almost had a heart attack.” 

Ned gestured to the book in his arms. “So you think there’s something wrong with your head?” 

“I don’t know, maybe?” Peter said. “Maybe there’s something so small that Karen can’t see it.” 

“I’m sure Mr. Stark has the technology—” 

“No, no, I can’t tell Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupted. “He’ll just… it’s been affecting my aiming. I can’t shoot my web-shooters without Karen’s help. I don’t want him to bench me.” 

“So you’re just going to suffer?” Ned shook his head. “This is such an easy fix, Peter. Tell Mr. Stark and there will be no reason to bench you because he’ll fix it. He’ll fix you.” 

When Ned put it like that, Peter couldn’t argue. But there was one thing Ned left out. 

“What if he can’t fix me?” 

The two of them stood between the bookcases, waivering under the vast knowledge the cases held between their wooden shelves. They both stared at their shoes. 

It was Ned who looked up first. 

“He’s friggin’ _Tony Stark_ ,” Ned assured. “That man is smarter than all of New York combined. I’m sure he can fix whatever’s wrong with you, no doubt.”

Peter gave into Ned’s optimism and let the worry fall from his face. 

“I’m still going to check this book out though,” Peter said. 

“Of course you are,” Ned teased. “But shouldn’t you be in, like, the spider section of the library anyways? The radioactive spider section? Do we have one of those?” 

Peter sighed. “I don’t know— why don’t you go ask?” 

They both walked to the front desk, checked out the book, and left the library. The sound of the glass door shutting behind them melded into the crash of thunder from outside. It had been sprinkling when Peter was walking to school, but now a thunderstorm was right above them, darkening the school with its murky sky peering in through the windows. Peter slipped the book into his backpack as Ned and him walked into their chemistry class. 

They sat down at their desks next to each other and waited for class to begin. Even without looking out the windows, Peter could tell the storm was still going strong as each boom of thunder made the legs of his desk shake as if his desk were afraid of the storm itself. 

An unfamiliar individual came into their classroom as the clock struck 8 a.m. Peter nudged Ned as the stranger sat their bag down on their teacher’s front desk. 

Ned smirked. “Awesome, we have a sub! No homework today.” 

Peter watched as the substitute teacher took a hold of their teacher’s lessons plans for the day, eyeing the stack of worksheets held in his hands. Peter sighed.

“I think you’re wrong, Ned. More work than usual today,” Peter muttered. 

The substitute teacher introduced himself as Mr. Hoffman as he wrote his name eerily slow on the chalkboard. Within five minutes of listening to his lackluster voice read off the attendance list, Peter was over it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if this Mr. Hoffman had stopped there, but he insisted that they all do the worksheet together with him leading the way, just to make sure everyone would “stay focused.”

“Now who can tell me which group the element Neon belongs to?” Mr. Hoffman addressed the class, adjusting his glasses perched on his nose.

The class stayed silent, their attention everywhere else but Mr. Hoffman’s mouth droning on and on.

“...Anyone?” 

The boy in front of Peter raised his hand high in the air. 

“Yes… Avery, is it?” Mr. Hoffman perked up, hopeful. 

“May I go to the bathroom, please?” Avery asked.

Mr. Hoffman heaved a sigh. Anyone could tell that he regretted his decision to become a substitute teacher in that moment. “You have two minutes. Hurry back.” 

Peter watched as the boy took his bag and dashed out of the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Peter felt jealous of the boy who had two minutes to escape from this boring hell. 

“How about you?” Mr. Hoffman diverted his attention to Peter. 

Peter pointed a finger to himself. “Me?” 

“Yes, you,” Mr. Hoffman replied. “Percy, wasn’t it?” 

Peter cringed. “It’s Peter. Peter Parker.” 

“Right, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Hoffman corrected himself, “we’re on number 6. Which group does the element Neon belong to?” 

“It’s a noble gas. Group 18.” Peter answered without skipping a beat. He had the periodic table memorized weeks ago. 

Ignoring Peter’s bothered tone, Mr. Hoffman smiled. “That’s correct! Your teacher left me a note that your test is coming up soon, so I suggest you all take a note from Mr. Parker here and begin studying your periodic tables more closely—” 

A loud clash of thunder cut Mr. Hoffman off from his lecture as the old wooden cabinets throughout the room creaked. A few students around Peter gasped in fear as the noise still rang in their ears. 

“All of you have experienced a thunderstorm before,” Mr. Hoffman began. “This is nothing new, so if everyone could please stay quiet and focus on—”

The lights above them flickered several times, dimming before going out completely.

The lights didn’t turn back on. 

Everyone around Peter frantically reached into their backpacks and turned on their phones’ flashlights, bringing light to the dark room. Peter could see the shadows of everyone’s terrified faces. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Doesn’t this place have generators?” 

“I have no signal!” 

“We’re all going to die!” 

Mr. Hoffman tried to control the chaos in a room full of dramatic teenagers. “Everyone stay calm! The power has just gone out. Surely you all have experienced a power outage before.” 

Ever since Peter had begun patrolling at night, he had noticed his ability to see in the dark had improved. Whether it was because of the radioactive spider bite or just practice swinging around Queens in the moonlight, Peter could see better in the dark than he ever had before. He hadn’t had much practice lately doing so out of the suit, but Peter squinted his eyes and searched around. 

The rain pitter-pattered against the window, showing no sign of stopping any time soon. Peter heard the clock ticking away on the wall as he studied each side of the room, trying to notice anything out of place. The graduated cylinders were empty, the hot plates were unplugged, and the science models were untouched. Based on the look of the classroom, nothing had happened between the moment when the bright florescent lights were on and then shut off. As his gaze traveled, Peter continued to see that nothing was out of the ordinary. 

But when his eyes fell on the classroom door’s window, a figure glared back at him before, disappearing away as quickly as it had came. 

Blood rushed to his head. He felt like something had kicked him hard in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. 

Peter reached out next to him for Ned, scooting his chair closer to Ned’s desk as his heart pounded in his ears. Peter’s mouth was dry, but he spoke as well as he could. “Ned, _Ned!"_

“Something’s up, Peter,” Ned turned toward his friend. “The power never stays out for this long. It’s only a thunderstorm. There’s no tornado or any hail or a hurricane—” 

“Yeah, I know, Ned,” Peter agreed. “Something’s wrong.” 

“Are your spidey-senses tingling?” Ned asked. 

Peter opened his mouth, but the words tripped over his tongue. “...N-no, but—”

“Okay, so we’re fine,” Ned sighed in relief. “We’re okay! You had me scared there for a second.” 

“No, no, Ned, listen to me,” Peter shook Ned’s shoulder. “Listen to me. It’s not a power outage. Something’s wrong. I know it. I can’t sense it, but I know it.” 

Worry returned to Ned’s eyes, and the fear Ned felt translated into rambles. “Wh-what is that supposed to mean? Your spidey-sense only go off if we’re in danger, and they’re not going off, but you’re saying we are?” 

Mr. Hoffman began to speak before Peter could respond to Ned. “Please, could everyone gather around the back of the classroom at the lab tables away from the windows?”

“That’s the smartest thing he’s said all hour,” Peter commented, grabbing his backpack and heading toward the back of the classroom. 

Twenty-five students huddled around the lab tables in the darkness, talking anxiously among themselves and complaining about their toes being stepped on. 

Peter and Ned sat on the floor near a cabinet away from everyone else. They had a bigger problem on their hands. 

“Do you have your suit?” Ned whispered. 

Peter looked back at Ned sheepishly. “It’s in my locker.” 

“What? Dude, why don’t you have your suit? It’s always in your backpack!” Ned’s voice rose above a whisper, and Peter began to shush him. Peter didn’t need the whole class to freak out about this too. 

“I know, I know! But I needed more room in my backpack for the my library books.” Peter explained.

“Fine, but you have your web-shooters, right?” Ned suggested instead. 

Peter nodded, pulling up his sleeve to show Ned, but then he gulped. He hadn’t been able to aim right all week without Karen. 

He needed his suit. 

“I’m going to go get it,” Peter said. “I’ll go to the bathroom and put it on.” 

“How are you going to leave? There’s no way Mr. Hoffman will let you. He’s already got us corralled back here like sheep.” 

Peter thought about it for a second. “I have an idea.” 

“Idea for what?” 

Peter and Ned looked up and saw MJ towering over them, glaring down at them. 

“N-nothing!” Ned exclaimed. “It’s nothing! Don’t worry about it, MJ. Everything’s fine…” 

Peter saw the suspicion on MJ’s face, but he didn’t have time to delve into it. Letting Ned babble on, Peter stood up and went for the front of the classroom. 

“Hey, Percy! Where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Hoffman called out to him, and Peter winced. How hard was it to remember a name as simple as Peter? 

“Uh, my locker.” Peter answered. 

Mr. Hoffman shook his head. “No, everyone needs to stay in here. Go back to the lab tables.” 

“But my locker is right down the hall—”

“I’m not going to let you teenagers start roaming the halls in the dark, no matter what!” 

“Sir, I really need something from it,” Peter stated, stepping toward Mr. Hoffman. “I, uh, need my inhaler. I have asthma, and all this is really making it flare up with the rain and the stress—”

Peter began coughing for good measure. Every substitute’s biggest fear was a kid dying on them, and Peter used this to his advantage. 

Mr. Hoffman put his hands up. “Fine. You have two minutes. No dilly-dallying, or I’ll send someone to come get you.” 

Peter nodded a thank you before hurrying out of his chemistry class. The halls were as dark as the classroom, the only source of light coming from the glowing red exit signs down the hallway. He sprinted to his locker on the left side of the hallway, spinning its knob to unlock it. 

Peter began to feel more confident now that the suit rested right in front of his eyes. If anything were to come into his chemistry class, he would be able to protect all his classmates and that Mr. Hoffman too, though the jury was still out on whether or not he deserved it. Whatever the mysterious figure was that was wandering the halls, he’d be able to beat it now that he had his suit and Karen; Peter was sure of it. 

Peter briefly turned his head to peak around his opened locker door, seeing if he could spot anyone snooping around. Even in low light, an unknowing eye would be able to recognize the bright, reflective eyes of the Spider-Man suit. Peter didn’t need the concern of someone outing his secret identity on his mind too. Luckily, the hallway was empty, no one in sight. 

The suit sat on the bottom shelf of his locker. All Peter had to do was make it to the bathroom, slip it on, pull his clothes over top of it, and make it back within the remaining two minutes he was given. 

_Easy peasy._

_Right?_

Peter bent down and was about to grab his suit before he felt a warm breath on his neck. 

“You think that spandex is going to stop someone like me, Peter?” 

Peter felt his heart drop to his stomach. 

He turned around to face whomever was speaking to him, but he felt a force shove him up against his locker, the opened door slamming loudly against the neighboring locker. Peter couldn’t speak. Even if he had a witty comment or a snarky reply like usual, the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He couldn’t make a sound, not even a shout for help or a moan of pain. He couldn’t even breathe to fill his lungs because someone was _choking him._

Yet Peter didn’t see a human face in front of him. 

Only white and featureless, like a blank mask. 

Peter kicked and gasped for air, clawing at whomever was holding him by the throat, but Peter only scratched his own skin. 

“Scared, Parker?”

The voice spoke again, and Peter was frightened beyond measure. They knew his name. They knew he was Spider-Man. They knew how to lure him out of his classroom and hurt him where he was most vulnerable: in school, in the dark, without his suit, without anyone else around. 

And his spider-sense hadn’t warned him at all. 

Peter’s head was beginning to feel light and his kicks became less and less violent. His body was going slack. Thoughts were racing through Peter’s head. Do I pass out? Or die from being strangled? Peter didn’t know which came first, but only had a few seconds left to prevent either one of them from happening. Either case would leave him on the floor with his locker wide open, Spider-Man suit out on full display. He’d rather not face the consequences of his whole school finding out his secret identity. 

Peter tried moving his hands away from his neck, but he felt them being held back against him, as if he were the one choking himself. He wanted to scream out in frustration. He wanted to bite this person’s, this being’s, head off in anger and never let them get a word in edgewise. He wanted to rip them from limb to limb for daring to mess with his school, his classmates, _his friends._

All Peter needed was to get one hand free. 

_Easy peasy._

Peter kicked his locker door as hard as he could with all the energy he had left, and a loud bang! echoed through the hallway. The unexpected noise would’ve made anyone jump, including whoever it was that was strangling Peter. For a brief moment, Peter was let out of their grasp, allowing him to gain control of his own hands again. Peter took his chance. 

Peter shot from his right web-shooter, aiming for the featureless individual in front of him. 

He clipped them on the lower half of their face, and Peter watched they shrieked from the webbing, grabbing at it and trying to tear it off their skin. 

They ran out of sight before Peter had a better look at the face of who truly attacked him. 

Peter had fallen onto the floor once being released from the person’s hold on him. His legs splayed out in front of him and his shoulders sagged. He was exhausted and every breath he took was interrupted by a spew of coughs and gags and gasps. He swallowed roughly and his throat burned. 

“Who’s scared now?” Peter said smugly, his voice still raw. He meant it toward whoever had attacked him and ran away, but Peter knew the true answer. 

Peter was still terrified. 

A door opened from down the hallway. Peter’s two minutes were up, and someone was sent to find him. 

But Peter didn’t expect it to be MJ. 

“Peter, is that you? What the hell? Why are you on the floor?” MJ walked toward him with her phone flashlight in hand. When she made it completely to him, she couldn’t contain her gasp, letting it fall out her mouth. 

“Could you help me up, please?” Peter croaked. What had just happened was finally hitting him, and the tears were stinging his eyes. He couldn’t let them fall, not while she was there. 

“God, Peter, what happened?” MJ insisted, but Peter shook his head. 

“Just help me up, please? _Please."_

MJ held out her hand and Peter took it, pulling himself up onto his feet. MJ draped his arm over the back of her shoulders to stable his shaking posture. Peter involuntarily leaned forward, unable to keep his balance, but MJ put a hand on his stomach to keep him from falling. 

“Did you really have an asthma attack?” MJ asked, hearing Peter’s wheezing now that he was standing. “Shit, I thought you were just lying to just get out of there.” 

“An attack… something like that,” Peter breathed. He took one step forward with her. It took every ounce of his being to not break down in front of her. 

They came to the outside of their classroom, and Peter shrugged himself off her. As much as he wanted to be close to her, he couldn’t let anyone else in on that he wasn’t okay. MJ followed behind him as he stumbled to the back of the classroom, reaching out everytime she thought he was losing his balance again. 

Peter crawled under a lab table, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. He saw MJ’s feet walk over to Ned’s, and he heard her murmur something to him. Soon enough, both Ned and MJ were underneath the table, sitting cross-legged in front of Peter. 

A bolt of lightning and thunder came down, and Peter jolted. He gripped the denim of his jeans tighter, his knuckles growing whiter. 

“Could you tell your friend Thor to chill with the thunder already?” Ned said to Peter, trying to crack a joke to brighten the mood. 

“Ned, stop.” MJ hit Ned on the arm. “He’s not okay.”

MJ was right; if Peter had any words to describe how he was feeling, “not” and “okay” were definitely at the top of the list. He was in pain all over, and he just wanted to be left alone without a soul bothering him. 

Ned tried again, speaking softly. “Hey, we go to school with a whole bunch of nerds. Someone’s going to figure out how to turn the power back on eventually. Everything's going to be fine.” 

Peter reached to Ned and held his hand to remind himself that he was _here, not out there_ and that he was _alive, not dead_ and that _it’s over. I will be fine. I will heal._

“Peter, your nose is bleeding,” MJ pointed out. Peter wiped his hand under his nose and saw the dark blood glistening on his pale skin. Peter couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. 

“Yeah, I’m not so good with blood,” Ned hesitated. “MJ, could you handle this one?”

“I’ll go get tissues,” MJ offered, sliding out from under the table. 

Peter leaned his back against the wooden leg of the table, pinching his nose. He wanted to avoid Ned’s incoming barrel of questions, but Ned wasn’t having it. 

“Peter, c’mon, you’ve gotta tell me what happened!” Ned contended. “You were only gone for like three minutes! And you were only just getting your suit—” 

“Drop it, Ned. Okay?” Peter replied, looking Ned right in the eyes. “...At least for right now?” 

Their surroundings were soon lit up as the lights around them came back on again. Peter squinted as he slowly adjusted to the sudden brightness. 

“If everyone could please find their seats, let’s resume our lesson for the day,” Mr. Hoffman shouted above the clamor of students putting their squeaky stools back under the lab tables. 

Ned turned back to Peter, extending a hand to help Peter up. “Fine, but you’re going to tell me at lunch, okay?” 

Peter nodded in agreement. “Okay.” 

When Peter got up from underneath the shadows of the lab table, Ned instantly saw the dark bruises littered across Peter’s neck.

“Dude, _dude,_ who put their hands on you? I’m going to punch them so hard—” 

“Ned, chill!” Peter said, stopping Ned before he made a big commotion. Peter put the hat of his hoodie up to hide his neck. “First of all, you’re as frightening as a baby bunny. And second, I don’t know who it even was, so can we just go? Man, I wish the lights were still off. My head is killing me.” 

MJ came up to them with the box of tissues. Peter took one gratefully as the blood still ran from his nose. 

“Thanks, MJ,” Peter acknowledged. He stopped himself from smiling at her, knowing that some blood had probably dripped down his face in an unattractive fashion. As if a bloody nose ever looked cute. 

“We have a medical emergency!” Ned shouted across the room, directed at Mr. Hoffman. “I’m taking Peter to the nurse.” 

Mr. Hoffman didn’t even bother to stop them as they walked out the door, leaving him stressed beyond compare as he took the worksheet back in his hands. 

Asthma _and_ nose bleeds? Mr. Hoffman shook his head. He would never substitute for a class that had Peter Parker in it ever again. 

\--

After the final school bell rung, Peter rushed out of his last class of the day, grabbed all his essentials out of his locker, and made for the back entrance of the school before anyone else had. 

But Peter didn't make his usual stop at Delmar’s to grab an after-school snack. Instead, he headed straight for the alleyway, webbed up his backpack, and put on the suit. 

After the day he had, he couldn’t wait to stop being Peter Parker. He needed to be someone else, even if it was just for the next few hours. He needed to be someone less vulnerable. Someone more confident in his abilities to defend himself from the worst of the worst. Someone he could look up to and admire instead of only noticing only the mistakes he would make. 

Being Queen’s Spider-Man was Peter’s outlet. He could make up for all his frustrations about himself by saving the day and the lives of the people around him. Peter Parker and all his books and awkwardness couldn’t necessarily do that, but Spider-Man definitely could. 

With his legs hanging over the edge, Peter sat on the railing of a billboard sign, looking down at the streets below him. It had stopped raining about an hour ago, but puddles of water were still scattered about on the roadways. The sound of cars splashing through them as they drove was soothing to Peter’s ears. Content as can be, Peter took out his phone and read through the texts that he had missed from earlier. All five were from Ned. 

**Ned: text me back when you’re free tonight, need to make sure you’re still doing okay after today.**  
**Ned: are you sure it wasn’t like a ghost??**  
**Ned: wait never mind.**  
**Ned: i’m dumb. how could a ghost try to strangle you?**  
**Ned: they don’t even have hands.**

Peter rolled his eyes, smiling. Ned was too much sometimes with his questions, but Peter still loved him like no one else, even with his quintuple texting. 

Putting his phone away, Peter was about to hop down from the railing and observe from somewhere else when he heard a cacophony of car alarms from a parking garage nearby. That was never a good sign. 

Peter jumped off the billboard sign and swung from building to building so he could get closer to the parking garage. When he landed on the red PARK light display outside the garage, Peter saw an SUV weaving through the structure, speeding down each floor and taking no care to avoid crashing into the parked vehicles throughout it. 

Definitely not a good sign. 

Was it an drug deal gone wrong? An armory trade gone awry? Peter wasn’t exactly sure what sketchy business was reserved only for parking garages, but whatever had just gone down in this one, Peter guessed it had gone terribly astray. 

The SUV was nearing the exit of the bottom level, and it wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. Peter looked at the exit; there were many civilians going about their evening on the damp sidewalk across the way. They were about to be caught in the crosshairs of a speeding, reckless driver if Peter didn’t do something quickly. 

The tensile strength of his webbing was strong, but Peter wasn’t sure if it was strong enough to stop an already out-of-control SUV. 

But he had to try. 

“Everyone, out of the way!” Peter yelled and leaped from the display sign onto the sidewalk, pushing everyone further down near intersection and away from the parking garage. “No one get any closer!” 

Peter’s best bet was to create a barricade. 

“Splitter web!” 

Webbing shot from his wrist as he aimed for the walls making up the exit of the parking garage. The web caught on each wall, and Peter continued on until there was a mess of webs acting as a blockade for the SUV to run into without injuring the driver. 

The SUV was barrelling toward the exit, engine revving. 

“Please work, please work, _oh god, please work."_

Peter stood to the side of the entrance, ready to web up a crowd of people to the nearest building if need-be to get them out of harm’s way. He kept looking back at them and the accelerating SUV, anxious as all get out. 

Peter couldn’t stop a van by dragging behind it on a strand of webbing; he had tried that once before. He had only gotten road rash. But Peter could stop a bus with his bare hands. If push came to shove, surely an SUV wouldn’t be any different. It would actually be easier, right? He hoped it wouldn’t come to testing that out. 

The roar of the SUV’s engine grew louder in his ears. If Peter trusted himself and his webbing, he would close his eyes and wait for it to be over. But Peter couldn’t place his trust so carelessly like that. He had to see his plan play out, for better or worse. 

Peter’s heart pounded as he watched the SUV crash through the parking garage’s gate and run right into his webbing. Strands broke and flew outward, snapping across the SUV’s front bumper. Its speed decreased significantly as the vehicle was half out of the exit, half still caught in the webbing. The airbags had gone off, but the driver was alive. Peter’s plan had worked; his web barricade had stopped the SUV from running over dozens of innocent people passing by. 

“I don’t know who gave you your driver’s license, but they need to be fired!” Peter shouted at the driver of the SUV. “Didn’t they tell you to always obey stop signs? Like this one right here? And I guarantee you that parking garage has no more than a 5 mile per hour speed limit—” 

Peter’s voice was drowned out by the sound of another engine racing along concrete above him. 

“Shit, there’s _two?_ "

How could Peter be so stupid? Why was there a speeding SUV in the first place? Obviously, it was because a second one had been chasing the first one. _Stupid, stupid. stupid._

Peter started to panic. There was no way his webbing could withstand another run-in with a 3,000 pound SUV. And he didn’t have time to push the first SUV out of the way and reweb a new barrier, so the second SUV would just crash into the first, killing both drivers—

“Karen, what do I do? What do I do?!” 

“The SUV is traveling too fast, Peter.” 

“How fast is it going?” 

“90 miles per hour and accelerating.” Karen answered. “You can’t stop it. You would not be able to endure that amount of force. The impact on you from the SUV would be lethal.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know! I know!” Peter stressed. He hesitated, his head in his hands. 

_Think, Peter, think! You’ve seen so many movies, played so many video games..._

“Karen, tell me, the second SUV’s doors— are they locked?” 

“No, the safety mechanism was disabled. The doors are unlocked.” 

“I have a plan,” Peter said, racing over toward the exit. “And I’m going to need a whole hell of a lot of help. You got it, Karen?” 

“Of course, Peter.” 

Sliding across the hood of the first SUV, Peter tore open the driver’s side door, unbuckling the man from his seatbelt and pulling the him out of the seat. 

“Really? You decided to wear your seatbelt? Of all the shitty decisions you made today, not wearing your seatbelt was going too far?” Peter snapped, picking the man up from the ground by his arm. “Get over to the sidewalk! Over there! Stay out of the way!” 

Peter jumped on top of the car and walked along it, ducking his head as he came close to the roof of the parking garage. He leaped off, ran toward the empty parking spaces on the right side of the first level, and crouched down. 

“Okay, Karen, here’s what we’re going to do,” Peter began. “When the SUV gets down here, I’m going to shoot at the driver’s door handle, yank the door open, and then shoot another web to pull the driver out of there. But you’ve gotta help me with the timing and aiming because if I get either of those wrong, that driver is going to crash and die and he’s going to pull me along into the wreck with him.” 

“I can help you with that, Peter.” Karen responded. “Driver’s on the third floor.” 

Peter waited. That was the worst part, Peter thought, waiting to see if his plan would work or fail miserably. Failing miserably this time though meant at least one dead person and possibly himself too if his plan royally screwed up. He hoped it wouldn’t come down to that. If he died, May would be so mad at him. Ned, too. They were suppose to finish their chemistry lab tomorrow. MJ would probably be mad as well, although she would never admit Peter was truly a valuable member of the Academic Decathlon team, when he actually showed up.

“Second floor now, Peter,” Karen told him. Peter held his wrists out to prepare. 

“My aim has been terrible all week, Karen.” 

“I know, Peter.” 

“And my reflexes are so much slower.” Peter heard his voice breaking. 

“I have factored in your increased reaction time and calculated the correct second to tell you when to shoot your web-shooters.” 

“Karen, I…” Peter couldn’t even finish his sentence. God, he felt like he was pass out. 

“You need to breathe, Peter.” Karen said. “The driver is rounding the corner.” 

He took a deep breath and let it out. The SUV was heading toward him lightning fast. 

“Shoot now!” 

Peter did as Karen told him, and with the trajectory aligned on his mask’s heads up display, Peter aimed right for the door handle. With his left hand, he pulled harder on his webbing than he ever had before to wrench the door free. It swung wide open. Peter released that strand of webbing and used both wrists to shoot another at the driver to yank him from the inside of the SUV. The driver tumbled to the ground as the SUV crashed into the first one in a smoldering wreckage.

Peter’s knees collapsed on the pavement. He hadn’t felt this relieved in a long time. 

“Great job, Peter,” Karen said. “You were 100% successful.” 

Peter grinned widely. 100%. That was the best percentage. 

Standing up, Peter could hear the oncoming police sirens and ambulance wailings. He walked on over to the driver who groaned in pain. 

“Thanks for not wearing your seatbelt,” Peter took the driver’s hands, held them behind his back, and webbed them together as makeshift handcuffs. “You would’ve been stuck in there.”

Peter exited the parking garage and saw that both the police and ambulance had arrived. He looked over and saw the crowd of civilians right at the corner of the intersection where he had left them, overwhelmed yet safe and sound. Peter jogged on over to the mass of people. 

“Hey, is everyone all right? Ma’am, you good? Sir, everything okay?” Peter checked on various people in the crowd, but the overall consensus was that they were merely bystanders who had their own exaggerated versions of what they had just seen, all ending with Spider-Man saving the day. 

Except for one person. Peter was pretty sure he had ruined his day. Or ruined his getaway, at least. 

Peter searched around the for the driver of the first SUV that he had told to join the crowd to stay out of the way. The driver tried hard to blend in as he had his hood up and his face down, but Peter found him, bruises and all. 

Peter tried to be discreet. Get close enough to shoot a web grenade and pin the guy against the lampost so the police could deal with him. That was all it would take. 

But Peter accidently made eye contact, and nothing else said ‘you’re going to get what you deserve for causing all this ruckus’ like the enraged eyes of the Spider-Man suit. 

So the driver ran. 

“Hey! _Hey!_ " Peter shouted as he ran after him. “You don’t run away from the scene of a car crash! You’ve got insurance to deal with, buddy!” 

Peter weaved his way through the crowd, pushing past people as politely as he could. He regretted not webbing him up the second he pulled him out of the vehicle. 

“Karen, lock on to him!” 

Peter was better able to keep sight of the driver as he chased him through the streets of Queens. His feet pounded against the sidewalk, splashing through puddles along the way. The driver quickly rounded the block, and Peter sped up as much as his short legs could carry him, prepared followed suit. 

The path Peter turned onto was full of apartment complexes and thankfully, they had an abundant amount of balconies and railings Peter could swing from. 

The runaway driver grew smaller and smaller in Peter’s eyesight as he continued his escape. Peter had a lot of distance to make up, and merely running after him wouldn’t cut it. Limited on his web cartridges, Peter made sure to conserve his web-fluid the best he could as he swung as far as he could on one strand before releasing it. Just as Peter got into a decent rhythm of shooting and releasing, the man began to climb the fire escape of one of the apartment buildings. 

“You have got to be kidding me!” Peter panted. 

As the man winded around the staircase, taking the steps two at a time, Peter scaled one side of it, sticking easily to the rusted metal. The two both reached its top level, and the man struggled to hoist himself up onto the roof as he tried to lose Peter. 

Peter continued his pursuit, running across the rooftop to meet the man at its edge. Surely the man would stop; there was nowhere else to go. Peter had the driver cornered, and based on the look of dismay in the driver’s eyes, Peter figured the driver knew it too. Peter was thrilled to web him up and call it a night. He couldn’t wait to lay down on his and May’s couch and do absolutely nothing for hours to let his legs recover from running miles around Queens at top speed. 

But just as Peter was ready to defeat the driver with a web grenade and a snarky one-liner, Peter saw the man do something he never would have expected. 

The man jumped, landing on the rooftop of the neighboring building. The man tumbled onto the ground before standing up to run again, glancing over his shoulder to see a bewildered Spider-Man gawking back at him. 

“What the— who the hell is this guy?” Peter marveled. Leaping across rooftops was no big deal for Peter, but he was getting sick and tired of this driver’s maneuvers. Peter had a strong willpower, but the driver was just as determined. He was sure making it hard for Peter to catch him. 

Peter landed onto the roof of the abandoned industrial warehouse. He wish he could just shoot a web and get it over with, but the man ran zig-zagged and ducked behind various vents portruding from the roof’s surface. If Peter’s aim was where it was supposed to be, he would have no problem, but it was seriously lacking in accuracy and reliability. He couldn’t keep running across rooftops all night though. He had to try. 

The man had stopped, hesitating before hurdling himself over the edge of yet another building. It was just the right moment. Peter had a perfect shot. 

He stopped to hold out his wrist. 

But then the roof caved in. 

And there was no dumpster to brace his fall this time. There was only a concrete slab 65 feet below him that he was plummeting to, far too fast to do anything about it. 

Peter thought his death would be a little more hardcore than falling. Also, he didn’t think it would happen when he was 15 years old. 

Thankfully, Karen thought so too. 

She deployed his parachute and wingsuit, trying anything to create enough resistance to slow down his fall. It would have worked miracles if they were outside and hundreds of feet higher, but Karen was not in the business of working wonders. All she had to do was make sure Peter didn’t plummet to his death. A few broken bones here and there were easy to fix, but a crushed spinal cord? Not so much. 

And so Peter fell face down, smacking against the cold, hard concrete. It hurt like hell, but Peter lived. Miracle or not, Peter felt like the most fortunate crime-fighting spider in all of Queens. He would’ve smiled if it weren’t for his busted lip. 

“Karen… damage report.” 

“You have three cracked ribs and a broken nose, Peter.” Karen answered. “And a minor concussion.” 

“That’s not too bad, right?” Peter replied, slowly rolling over onto his back. He winced in pain. “I’m definitely going to need to lay down on the couch tonight though, now more than ever.” 

Peter sucked in a breath of air, and it took every ounce of his being not to shout every expletive known to man. 

“Can you, uh, analyze what the hell just happened?” Peter asked, trying to breathe shorter and shallower breaths. “And don’t give me that ‘you fell through a roof and landed on concrete’ bullshit. I already know that.” 

“It looks like this industrial warehouse has been abandoned since 1998. Weather damage to the roof has caused it to cave in over the years. You stepped in a particularly weakened spot.” 

“And you didn’t think to warn me about it?” 

Karen paused. “You would usually know to avoid it, Peter.” 

Her reply hit Peter like a mack truck. 

Under normal circumstances, Peter would have avoided it. While he may not have known about the structural integrity of the building’s roof, he usually would have determined what he needed to do to in order avoid any imposing danger. He would been able to react reflexively, giving himself one last chance to change his footing. 

Yet none of that had happened. 

Peter finally put it all together. 

His trouble aiming, his terrible reaction time, his lack of reflexes, his inability to preconceive danger, his overall feeling of numbness… 

Peter had lost his most valuable power: his spider-sense. 

He swallowed hard. “Karen, I need to get back to the roof.” 

“I would not recommend moving while you are in such an injured state. I recommend sending the reconnaissance drone instead.”

“I-I need to get to the roof, Karen.” Peter’s heartbeat quickened in his chest. “I can’t stay down here. I need air.” 

“There is a stairwell that leads to the roof to your left, but—” 

“Not now, Karen.” Peter groaned as he stood up, untangling his legs from the parachute. “No can do on the stairs. Too many steps to handle.” 

Grimacing with every step he took, Peter staggered over to the nearest wall. 

“Is it safe to climb?” 

Karen switched his visuals to show the internal structure of the wall. “Yes, Peter.” 

Peter scaled a wall for the second time that day, this time in a whole lot more agony than the first. Once Peter got to the top, he reached for the ceiling and crawled across it before pulling himself through the hole in the roof he had made when he had fallen through it. 

A brisk breeze greeted Peter as he settled on the roof, prickling his skin. His breathing turned rugged and his teeth clenched in pain from the strenuous activity. A part of him wanted to search the roof for the driver, but Peter knew it would be useless. The driver had gotten away. Peter had let a criminal roam the streets of Queens yet another day because of his own shortcomings. 

Peter tore off his mask in frustration. “Dammit!” 

He felt a hundred and one emotions in that moment. Anger, pain, grief, shock, and fear, to name a few. How was it even possible? What was he going to do? How could he get it back? How could he keep on being Spider-Man without it? There were even more questions racing through his mind, but he always came back to one: how the hell did he lose his spider-sense in the first place? 

Just as Peter was about to limp to the staircase Karen had told him about earlier, he heard footsteps shuffling behind him. 

“Peter?” 

He froze. That voice didn’t belong to Karen. 

“Peter? What the hell— is that you?”

Peter turned his head, eyes boggled. His heart thumped. No. Fucking. Way. 

“MJ?” Her name rolled off Peter’s lips in pure disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair, slick with sweat. What a whirlwind of a day. “W-What? What... what are you doing here?” 

MJ squinted at him. She clutched the book she held in her hands. “I come here to read.” 

“You come to an abandoned building with a collapsing roof to read?” 

MJ nodded, pointing. “I live in the apartments just right there. The view is better from here.” 

Peter was confounded. He laughed awkwardly, but his ribs ached. He almost doubled-over from the pain shooting through his torso, but MJ stepped closer, reaching out to him.

He looked down at saw her hand on his chest. Peter shook his head. “You’re really here. Wow. Shit.” 

MJ smirked. 

Peter gestured at his suit. “Well, now you know—” 

“That you’re Spider-Man? Yeah, I know. I put it together a while back,” MJ said. 

“See, that’s what I told Ned! I knew you would’ve figured it out eventually,” Peter replied. “How did you figure it out?” 

MJ faltered before simply shrugging her shoulders. “I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say... “ 

“That you’re observant?” Peter finished her sentence. “Yeah, I’ve heard that from you before.” 

“Who else knows?” 

“Only a few people,” Peter answered. “May, Ned, Tony Stark, his assistant Happy. Liz’s dad. Now you, too. Welcome to the club.” 

“That’s more than a few people, Peter.” 

“I never told any of them!” Peter retorted. “They all found out the same way you did, accidentally. And now as I’m saying this, I don’t know which is worse: finding out on purpose or on accident.” 

Peter watched as the wind blew gently at the curls framing her face. She was really here and so was he, and it made Peter realized he had never really been alone with her. Someone else had always been around, and Peter had taken it as an opportunity to avoid the feelings he felt around her. But he couldn’t ignore her, not when she was standing a mere three inches away from him. 

“Peter, your nose is bleeding,” MJ told him for a second time that day.

“I, uh…” Peter trailed off. He went up to touch his broken nose, seeing the blood make its way onto his hands. “Man, I’ve had a rough day, MJ. Especially with my nose. Earlier today was bad enough, but now it’s in real bad shape.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed it earlier.” 

Peter didn’t know what to say. Was that sarcasm? It hadn’t sounded like MJ’s usual dry jab at him. It was as if she genuinely hadn’t seen him spewing blood from his face under the lab table. MJ was even the one who had gave him the box of tissues for his bleeding nose; what did she mean she “hadn’t noticed?” 

Maybe she was just being nice to him, pretending nothing had been out of the ordinary earlier. MJ was smiling at him, so Peter figured it was that. He definitely wasn’t used to her smiling at him. By the looks of him, maybe MJ knew she should be nice to Peter for once. After the day he had, he needed this, needed her. He needed a win. 

“Sit with me?” Peter asked her as he sat down on the edge of the building, his feet dangling. “Tell me why you like this view so much.” 

MJ joined him. As her book rested in her lap, she pointed out various buildings and skyscrapers that poked through the dark grey clouds. Peter had noticed the buildings before as he had used them to swing through the city, but MJ knew so many little details about them that she had read about. Their history, their purpose, their little anecdotes. That was the MJ he knew, the one who mentioned stories about everything, whether they were about the bones of a building or a even person. MJ always gave him a new perspective on the world around him, and he adored her for that. 

Peter felt odd about it all, but he smiled as MJ spoke. He could hardly believe she was there sitting next to him, but she was, and it was a good ending to a shitty day. When he went to bed that night, even with his crooked nose, his fractured ribs, and his sore legs, Peter drifted off to sleep thinking of her. 

—

When Peter walked through the halls of Midtown Science the next day, he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his eyes down. 

Peter had fully recovered from last night; there wasn’t a single broken bone in his body. Physically, he was fine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that itched at him everytime he mentally replayed the events about running into MJ last night. There was something about it all that had felt off, and a small inkling of it still bothered Peter even hours later. Peter told Ned about it, but he hadn’t been of much help. 

“Dude, you spent your night hanging out with the girl you like, and you’re turning it into a bad thing?” Ned said. He told Peter to quit moping. “You’re just felt awkward around her because you like her, that’s all.” 

But Peter knew that wasn’t it. He knew there was something else going on, as always. As much as Peter wanted to be happy that he had spent time with MJ, his mind only it rendered bittersweet. 

In the early afternoon, the bell rung and Peter left his Spanish class to head to the lunchroom. Ned had a Spanish quiz to make up for a day he had been absent the previous week, so Peter was on his own for the time being. As he pulled open the lunchroom door, he traded the smell of the bleach and pine sol hallways for the greasy foods wafting their way from the kitchens to fill the rest of the cafeteria. Peter waited in the lunchline, pulling out his phone. He hadn’t felt his phone buzz during his last class, but a text message from May appeared on his lockscreen. 

**May: I found a recipe for french toast on pinterest that looks promising!! :) you feel like having breakfast for dinner tonight? <3**

Peter smirked. Only the Parker’s needed a recipe for something as simple as french toast. He texted May back an enthusiastic response, emojis and all. He looked forward to going home tonight a little more than he had before. 

Once Peter had his lunch, he sought out the long rectangle table he had been sitting at all semester. He gripped the black lunch tray tighter in his hands when he saw MJ sitting at the one end of it, continuing to isolate herself from the rest of the students in the cafeteria like she had done for months now. 

Peter took a chance. He crossed over to MJ’s territory of the table. 

“Hey, did you finish the book from last night?” Peter asked, sitting down in the seat opposite from MJ. 

She stared at him. “What?” 

“The book you’re reading, it’s different than the one you had last night,” Peter clarified, “so did you finish the other one?” 

MJ took a sip from her coffee mug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Peter laughed awkwardly. “Um, okay? I guess I’ll take that as a no.” 

“Why are you sitting there?”

“I thought…” Peter stammered. “I mean, Ned’s making up a Spanish quiz, and I thought that after last night…” 

MJ set down her mug. “I don’t really care that you’re sitting there. Do whatever you want. But seriously, Peter, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What about last night?” 

Peter furrowed his brows, confused. “Are you messing with me?” 

“Are you messing with _me?"_

“No, I just—” Peter’s thoughts were muddled together. “Last night— what, you don’t remember? When you found out that I was…?” 

“Was what?” MJ said. “Peter, just spit it out. What are you talking about?” 

“Last night, on the rooftop! You said you go there to read. You said the view was better there than your apartment.” 

Peter hoped MJ would nod her head in the least. Even if she down-played it, Peter would be fine. He could work with that. He could continue eating his lunch in peace, knowing that MJ didn’t want to be seen with him in public, but at least last night was real. All MJ had to do was say that it had truly happened and bring an end to Peter’s turmoil. 

But there was no look of realization on her face. MJ only confirmed his fears. 

“I was at home all night,” she told him. “I wasn’t on any rooftop. I don’t even live in an apartment. Peter, I didn’t see you at all last night. What are you talking about?” 

Peter felt like he had to puke. 

He got up from the table. The metal legs of his chair screeched against the linoleum tiles. He took his tray with him. 

“Peter, wait—” 

He was already halfway across lunchroom. He dumped his whole lunch tray in the trash. 

_"Peter!"_

He didn’t know what he had wanted to get out of talking to MJ, but it wasn’t this. He never wanted to feel like this. Disoriented. On edge. Anxious as hell. 

Peter felt like he was losing it. 

Peter would usually turn to May for a hug and her reassurance that things would be all right. Or he would go to Ned who would read him Star Wars comics until he felt better. And sometimes, he would even go to MJ who would remind him that things could be worse, a whole lot worse. But Peter didn’t want MJ and her attitude. He didn’t want Ned and all his questions. He didn’t want May and her french toast. Not anymore. He didn’t know what he really wanted, but he knew he had to get out of the lunchroom and away from it all. 

Peter left the cafeteria and stormed down the hall. He didn’t give any curious teachers a chance to ask him where he was going or where he was supposed to be. 

He went to the first place that came to mind: the library.

The glass door slammed shut behind him. He didn’t wave to the librarian. He stumbled to the very back corner of the library, trying to keep himself together until he dropped to the carpet and broke down. His lungs ached as his chest rose and fell with every trembling breath he took. He leaned his head against the cold brick wall, trying to cool down his face that was red and raw with tears. 

Peter knew how he felt, and it hurt him more than a broken nose and cracked ribs ever would. As he remained on the floor, Peter knew what he wanted. He wanted someone to give him answers. Even an answer to just once question would suffice. 

_What the hell is happening to me?_

But Peter knew that no one could give him what he wanted, what he desperately _needed_ , right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being 9,786 words. I don't know how that happened, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you guys think by leaving a comment below! 
> 
> As always, come say hi to me on tumblr at [mismatchingsocks!!](http://mismatchingsocks.tumblr.com/)


	4. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's the irondad content we've all been waiting for!!

Peter didn’t put on the Spider-Man suit for a week. 

He debated leaving the suit in his closet, but he knew May would notice its sleeve hanging out of the doorway for more than its usual overnight stay. He didn’t want to carry it around in his backpack either. Seeing its material stuffed underneath his books and school supplies would have served as a constant reminder that he couldn't wear it. He shouldn’t wear it. He didn’t _deserve_ to wear it. He wasn’t worthy of it anymore because every time he would think about it or Karen or his web-shooters, his heart would race and his mind would run wild. The thought of putting it on made him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t even be sure that what he was seeing with his own eyes was true. What if he webbed up the wrong person? What if he hurt someone innocent? After what happened with MJ, he didn’t trust himself. He couldn’t risk anything; he didn’t have the confidence to do so anymore.

So every spare chance Peter had, he avoided his friends.

He spent the next seven days in the library during lunch, not necessarily checking out books but avoiding MJ. And Ned. And any other kind of interaction with any other one of his classmates and teachers. Ned would ask Peter why they barely spoke 10 words to each other all day. MJ would stare at him in class, trying to make him uncomfortable enough to spill what was on his mind. Ned and MJ both knew Peter’s sudden antisocial behavior was way out of the ordinary, but they figured it would pass. They hoped it would. But every time they would see Peter in the halls, staring at the floor and avoiding their hopeful glaces in his direction, their worry grew. 

Peter didn’t want to hurt them, but he knew he already was doing so. It was better like this, Peter thought; he couldn’t make the mistake of physically hurting them if he wasn’t around them. Peter could deal with that, feeling numb. He would get used to it. At least his friends would be safe from him. 

Once Academic Decathlon practice ended after school, Peter skipped his daily visit to Delmar’s and the alleyway, instead heading straight for a train ride home. He kept his hoodie up over his head to shield his face as he went down the stairs to the station. Peter saw the green and blue graffitied walls, the yellow and red posters, and the orange and yellow litter scattered about, but he ignored all their bright, loud colors that begged him to take his headphones out of his ears to listen, to reply back. Peter wouldn’t give in. 

Peter joined the sea of business suits going home from their offices after the workday as he entered through the sliding doors and onto the train. Peter took a seat in the back corner away from the crowded area in the middle of the aisle by the door. He was in no hurry to leave since the street he would get off at was several stops away. 

Looking out the window as the city passed by, Peter leaned his head against the cool metal railing next to him. He adjusted his earbuds, but no matter how far he tried pushing them in, he couldn’t drown out the noises around him. The conversations. The coughing. The whirr of the doors opening and closing. Those in addition to the smell of the musky seats and the sweat and cologne of people around him, it all was putting Peter on edge. 

Peter sighed, annoyed. He gripped the sleeves of his hoodie, balling his fists. Even though Peter had lost his spider-sense, he still had a heightened ability for most of his other senses. Something as simple as taking the subway could put him into a sensory overload if he didn’t have something else with him to filter down the stimuli. Swinging home would have been easier on him, but Peter felt that he needed this. He needed to feel his surroundings, even if it was too much for him. Even if it caused him pain. He would know then that at least the world around him was still turning. 

Eyeing his backpack, Peter remembered the homework he had to do tonight. Calculus would be easy; he could get that done by dinner. And if he were to start on one of his assigned readings now on the train ride home, he would probably be able to go to bed at a decent time. His options were between a chapter from his chemistry book or the last 3 acts of _Hamlet_. One was much easier to SparkNote than the other. Peter zipped open his backpack and reached for his chemistry textbook. 

Peter thumbed at his textbook’s thin pages as the train picked up speed, zooming off from the station it had stopped at. People entered and exited the train, and Peter gave little notice to them. 

In hindsight, Peter wished he had been paying attention. 

The train stopped suddenly as its brakes screeched to a halt. Peter’s view jerked up from his textbook. Everyone around him was just as frazzled as he was, their once soft voices rising in volume. Peter tried not to join the commotion, but he knew something was wrong. He had the train schedule memorized; it should have been at least another minute before they reached the next station. 

Peter stared up at the ceiling lights. They didn’t flicker; their steady stream of light stayed constant. He felt a bit more at ease. There was probably just something with the engineering that needed fixed. Or maybe there was something on the tracks. Once it was moved, they would be going about their ride again and Peter would finally be home, safe and sound. 

Peter’s gaze fell from the lights to the opposite side of the passenger car. A man sat in a corner by himself with a bag in his lap. He was dressed similarly to Peter, dark hoodie and all, almost blending into the seat’s fabric to remain unnoticed. For someone so eager to be unseen, Peter saw the man shifting about uneasily quite a bit, turning his head from side to side to see the clamor around him. Even with a face half-shielded, Peter swore he saw a sickly smirk grow upon the man’s lips. Peter watched as the man stood up from his seat, making his way into the center aisle with his arm held high in the air. 

“Anyone screams, and I’ll shoot.” 

And that’s when Peter noticed the gun in his hand. 

_What the fuck? What in the actual fuck—_

Peter hated guns. More so, guns scared the hell out of him. Peter had ran into criminals around Queens hoisting them before, and they were by far his least favorite. Sure, he could web up the guns beforehand, but once the bullet left the barrel, there wasn’t much he could do except stay out of its way. He didn’t need to test it out to know that bullets would rip through the spandex of the Spider-Man suit and pierce his skin. 

_My suit—!_

Peter’s heart sunk when he realized he didn’t have it with him. He didn’t have Karen to talk some sense into him or boost his confidence with her algorithms and precision. Peter felt alone on a bus full of strangers and a man with a gun, and it took every ounce of his being not to panic. 

“Wallets. On the floor. Now.” 

The man pointed to the dusty ground with his gun. _So this is a robbery?_ It didn’t make any sense to Peter. Why in the middle of the day? Why couldn’t the man just pickpocket people around the station? Why did he need a gun? Why did this man feel the need to instill so much fear upon innocent people? 

The passengers obeyed the man and threw their wallets to the ground, murmuring anxiously to themselves. Peter had to follow suit; he didn’t want to be the reason that everyone else got hurt. He reached into his hoodie and slipped out the few dollars he had, leaving the cash in his pocket before tossing his wallet to the floor. He cringed, knowing he would have to ask May for another wallet at some point. At least wallets were cheaper than the backpacks he had lost before. 

Peter tried to contain his anxiety, but he knew deep down that there was no use in trying to control the fright now coursing through his veins. Peter was just as defenseless as he was in the hallway last week. Even days later, any memory of that event sent his body into hysterics; he couldn’t handle going through something like it again.

The man reached down and began shoving the wallets into the bag he was cradling before. Peter wondered what else was in there. More guns? More ammo? A grenade? His thoughts weren’t helping him stay calm, but at least he kept them to himself. He wished he could scream and shout his fears, but he knew it wouldn’t end well for him or anyone else around him. He was beyond thankful that the rest of the passenger car was full of adults; he was the only kid. There was no way he would keep his thoughts to himself if a man with a gun threatened to shoot with children in the vicinity. 

“Hand it over.” 

The man with the gun spoke again, and Peter searched for the person he directed the order to. He saw an older man with a trembling lip holding his brown leather wallet in his quivering hands.

“Please, there’s pictures of my grandkids in my wallet,” the older man begged. “They’re the only ones I have. I can’t lose them.” 

“Hand. It. Over.” The gunman inched toward him. 

“Please, I have no credit cards! There’s maybe $20 in here.” 

“Oh, I know there’s more than that based off that fancy suit you’re wearing,” the man sneered. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Hand it over.” 

Peter heart rate spiked when he figured it out. That was why the man targeted this train; he knew wealthy businessmen and women would be riding it on their way home. The man must have been staking out the station for days, maybe even weeks. Watching. Observing. Taking notes to see which group of people he could scare into robbing them. What better way to threaten society’s most rich and powerful than with a weapon they couldn’t control by throwing money at it? Peter wondered if he had crossed paths with the man days before at the station. Peter reasoned that he probably had, but he was too caught up in his own pathetic problems to take notice and prevent this all from happening. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

The man raised his gun and pressed its muzzle against the older man’s temple. The older man squeezed his eyes shut, tears falling down his face as he still gripped his wallet. 

Peter had to do something. If the gunman even looked at the older man in a menacing way for one more second, Peter was sure he would web him up—

_My web-shooters!_

Peter gasped in realization. He hadn’t bothered to take his web-shooters out of his backpack since they were in a pocket he rarely opened. Trying not to draw any attention to himself, Peter fumbled for the zipper and carefully pulled out his web-shooters. He held them in his hands and hid them behind his chemistry book as he put them on. His hands were slick with sweat and shaking and _You only have one chance to get this right, so don’t screw it up now, Peter._

His fingers betrayed him as he struggled to snap his web-shooters around his wrists. Peter almost began hanging his head in defeat. He didn’t have his mask on, and the hood of his sweatshirt barely covered his eyes. How could he use his web-shooters without giving up his identity? He hadn’t even used them in over a week. His aim was probably worse than it was, and without Karen to help, he wouldn’t—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Peter’s head jerked up. He had been so fixated on putting on his web-shooters that he hadn’t heard the footsteps of the gunman approaching him. Peter’s eyes met the long, black barrel of the gun. 

Gasps rose around him, filling the silence with _oh my god, he’s going to shoot a kid._

Peter didn’t speak. He gulped. He didn’t look at anyone seated around him. He didn’t even look at who the gun belonged to. He just stared at the metal in front of him, his breathing turning ragged as he willed it away. Peter thought his death would be a little more hardcore than falling, but less gory than his brains splattered across a dirty train seat. 

Thankfully, somehow the gunman knew this too. 

He lowered his gun, scoffing. “Don’t try to be a hero today, kid.” 

Peter wasn’t his target. He never was. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that didn’t mean Peter had to just sit there and watch it all play out. The man turned away from him.How naive of him to think so little of a high school sophomore. 

Peter gripped his chemistry textbook with two hands. He had his chance. He had to take it. 

Peter jumped out of his seat, smashing his chemistry textbook across the backside of the gunman’s head. If the force of 500-paged textbook in the arms of someone with super strength hadn’t knocked the man out, hitting his head on the metal railing as he fell to the ground finished the job. 

The passengers stared at Peter in awe, but he wasn’t sure that was what it was at first. A fear rose up in him that he had just knocked out an innocent person, that the whole gun situation was imaginary, something his ill mind had made up to screw with him. But the people around him had relieved smiles on their faces, and they clapped for this brave high school boy. 

Peter didn’t have time to gloat. He felt it in his gut that he had to get the hell out of there. Kicking the gun out of the man’s loose, unconscious grip, Peter knew he should web it up, just in case if the man were to reach for it, he wouldn’t be able to pull its trigger. He wanted to web the man to the ground, constraining him until everyone was out of the car and the police arrived. Peter wouldn’t make the same mistake as last time; he couldn't let this man get away—

But everyone was staring at Peter. They all had seen his face. If he shot from his web-shooters, it would be over for him. The clip from the train’s security cameras would be all over the news, and someone was bound to ask, “Isn’t that Peter Parker? From my Spanish class? _Holy shit!”_

Peter wasn’t ready to go public with his civilian identity yet, and he couldn’t risk any chance of it happening. This mere Robin Hood with a gun didn’t deserve Peter to come forward as Spider-Man because of him. 

Snatching up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, Peter’s eyes darted to the nearest window. He yanked open it and slid out while the train was still stopped. Once he got his bearings of where he was in the city, he ran. 

And he didn’t stop running. 

His feet pounded against the grass and then the cement sidewalk. His lungs burned with every breath he took. His calves ached with every stride. His pulse throbbed in his neck, and he felt he would pass out any second from an exploding heart. 

With all the strain on his body, Peter put all his focus on the sensation of the the wind whipping past his cheeks and up through his curls, bringing him a sense of peace. Something had gone wrong, and Peter saved the day. Peter Benjamin Parker, not Spider-Man. Peter did it without his suit, without Karen, and without his web-shooters. Peter wasn’t completely worthless; he had a handle on things after all. 

_Huh, who would’ve thought?_

The idea of putting the Spider-Man suit didn’t seem like such a stretch to him anymore. Peter couldn’t help but hold back a grin as he ran home. 

The wind cleansed him of the doubts he had been harboring the past week, casting them behind Peter for him to never look back on. Yes, his lungs burned and his legs ached, but Peter didn’t feel numb. He believed in himself. He felt alive. And that was one damn good feeling. 

\--  
“Peter, are you even listening to me?” 

The next school day started bright and early, and even with the good night’s sleep Peter had, it was hard to handle his especially high-strung Academic Decathlon teammate following him around all morning. 

Glancing up from his shoes, Peter saw the Midtown News’ morning report broadcasting on the TVs in the hallway. Peter didn’t usually didn’t give it any attention, but the student anchors were talking about the train robbery from last night. A video from another news station began playing, and Peter held his breath. He let it out when he saw that the video only showed the back of him, dubbing Peter as just a random guy in a blue hoodie wacking a guy with a big book. The anchors were more focused anyways on telling students to be safe after leaving school rather than finding out the identities of the gunman and the apparent hero. 

_High school investigative journalism at its finest._

“Hmm?” Peter mumbled, finally replying. He had stopped listening to Cindy two hallways back. 

Cindy heaved a sigh at him. “The carnival! You know, the one we’ve been planning for months now? So we can raise money for next year’s trip to Nationals?” 

That did sound familiar to Peter. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, what about it?” 

“It’s next Friday, and you still haven’t told me which booth you’ll be running!” Cindy stressed. She looked down at the checklist on her clipboard. “Abe has already claimed concessions. Sally’s doing the ring toss. Mr. Harrington even agreed to sit for the dunk tank, but there’s still lot of games left you can choose from! There’s the rubber duck pond, the carousel, or you could take tickets for the ferris wheel—” 

Peter stopped her before she could continue on. At this rate, both of them would be late for their next class. “I’ll let you know soon, Cindy. I promise. I’ll text you tonight about it, okay?” 

“No, Peter, I need to know now! _Peter!”_

Peter scurried down the hallway and turned into his next class, avoiding his Academic Decathlon responsibilities as always. He made a mental note to definitely text Cindy tonight about his job for the carnival. He couldn’t worry her for much longer; she deserved a bit of a break from Peter and the irresponsible tendencies she saw from him. 

The bell rang just as Peter entered his shop class, and his shop teacher hadn’t even stirred from his nap. Peter rolled his eyes as he sat down at a workspace in the middle of the room, ready to use the hour as yet another study hall to catch up on his homework. 

Digging around in his backpack for a pencil, Peter saw his chemistry textbook. It wore a jagged crack along its spine, and its pages were beyond eager to break from the binding. Peter groaned. There was no way he could have May pay the fine for a damaged textbook. Web fluid would only disintegrate. Ned and him would have to come up with some way to glue it back together. 

_Ned..._

Peter looked up and saw Ned at the workbench the two regularly sat at, preoccupied with picking up some scattered nails that had fallen to the floor. Ned was working on a project their teacher wouldn’t be bother enough to even grade, but Peter figured Ned was left with no other choice than to keep his hands busy with something since his best friend was avoiding him. 

That had to end today. Peter was sure of it. 

“Hey,” Peter said, strolling over to Ned and picking up the last two nails from the floor. 

Ned raised his eyebrows at Peter, taking the nails from him. “So you’re talking to me now?” 

“Yeah...” Peter replied. Ned shrugged. 

And that was that. Peter was thankful. 

“What are you working on?” Peter asked curiously, sitting down next to Ned and placing his backpack on the worktable. Peter touched the wood of Ned’s project and immediately jerked his hand away in fear of a splinter. He tried playing it off since he needed to get back on Ned’s good side. Maybe in a few days he would tell Ned that he should use a coarser grit of sandpaper. 

“It’s supposed to be a bird feeder,” Ned replied, dejectedly, “but if I were a bird, I wouldn’t eat here. It looks like something that would be featured on one of those Restaurant: Impossible shows, but for birds.” 

Peter laughed. “Nah, I don’t think so. It just needs… some paint? Yeah. Paint, that’s it. Give it a nice coat. That should do it.” 

“Dude, it needs to go in the trash. That’s what it needs.” 

Peter couldn’t argue with that. “Look, we can build another bird feeder tomorrow, but today I need your help with something.” 

“Yeah? What is it?” 

Peter appreciated his enthusiasm. “I’ll show you in a sec, but you’ve gotta come with me.” 

Peter led the two of them to the shop’s storage closet in the back of the room, its door hinges squeaking as he opened it. Moving a few empty paint buckets and planks of wood around, Peter arranged it so that they could both sit as comfortably as they could on the floor in such a musty environment. 

“Why are we in a closet?” Ned whispered. 

Peter locked the door behind them. “Privacy.” 

Ned hesitated until Peter began to pull the Spider-Man suit and mask from his backpack. He handed them both to Ned. 

“Put it on,” Peter instructed. 

“Why? Not that I’m passing up a chance to wear the suit or anything. I love wearing it, and it will always be one of the coolest things I will ever get to do, and I’m so jealous you get to wear it all the time but like… why?” 

“You know how I told you I met with MJ last week at some abandoned warehouse?” 

Ned slipped the mask on over his head. “Yeah, but MJ told me that didn’t happen? She said she didn’t know what you were talking about.” 

“Yeah, and I’ve been freaking out ever since,” Peter fretted. “Karen has the audio from that night, and I’ve listened to it countless times. I think it’s really her, but I can’t trust myself anymore. I don’t know if what I’m seeing or hearing is even real. I need you to listen to it.” 

Ned nodded. “Yeah, I can do that for you.” 

Peter was so glad to have Ned as a friend. What a guy. “Karen, pull up the audio for Ned from last Thursday, starting at 8:24 p.m.”

Minutes ticked by as Ned listened to Peter and MJ’s supposed conversation. With the mask on, Peter couldn’t read Ned’s face to see what he was thinking as he listened. Peter waited until Ned pulled the mask off, running a hand through his hair to lay it all back down.

“Well?” Peter asked, hopeful.

Ned’s eyes met Peter’s. “It sounds like her, Peter. That’s MJ.” 

_Holy shit._ “Uh, okay. Okay! Wait, what does that mean?” 

“I mean, unless you met with someone that sounds exactly like her,” Ned began, handing the suit and mask back to Peter, “you really did see MJ on that roof. I don’t know why she would lie about it though.” 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think she’s lying, Ned. Something else is going on here that we’re missing.” 

“Why don’t you have the footage from that night? Doesn’t Karen record everything?” 

“She does, but I tore my mask off,” Peter answered. “Karen doesn’t record video when I don’t have it on.” 

Ned thought about it. “Could I watch what Karen has before you took it off?” 

“Yeah, sure, but I’ve rewatched that night tons of times. I wasn’t even looking in MJ’s direction before seeing her. I was turned the other way, and I didn’t see her until she said my name—” 

“Maybe I’ll see something you missed?” Ned grabbed his laptop out of his bag. “I’ll download the footage on here. We can look at it together.” 

Peter watched intently as Ned worked his computer magic, taking the suit to connect it to a port on his laptop. Was downloading footage technically hacking his suit? Peter didn’t think so. Surely Mr. Stark would be all right with this. It was for something important anyway: proving whether Peter was going insane or not. 

Ned soon had the footage pulled up on the screen, starting it when Peter was crawling back onto the roof through the hole he had made when he had fallen through. Peter watched as his heads-up displayed whipped back and forth as he was trying to find the runaway driver. It was hard to rewatch; everything was blurry and Peter could hardly tell what he was looking at. The video ended right before Peter yelled, _“Dammit!”_

“See, you can’t even tell anything—” 

“No, wait!” Ned stopped Peter from closing his laptop lid. “Shut up. I think I saw something.” 

Peter froze. “W-what? What did you see?” 

Ned didn’t answer. He typed on his computer and began replaying the footage, this time at a slower speed. He slowed it down even more right before Peter would have given his expletive. 

“There!” Ned shouted. He paused the video, typing on his computer to increase the resolution. 

_Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit._

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Peter breathed, looking at a curly haired girl on Ned’s laptop screen. It was unmistakably MJ, but Peter had to make sure Ned was seeing the same person as he was. 

“That looks like MJ to me,” Ned answered. “You must have overlooked her on the roof when you were searching around. She was probably there the whole time, but you didn’t notice her until she said your name.” 

“I guess that makes sense?” Peter said. “I wonder how long she was reading up there.” 

Peter cringed at the thought of her seeing him fall through the roof. If she had seen it, she would’ve helped him, right? Especially since he was Spider-Man in that moment and not Peter Parker? Who wouldn’t have helped a web-slinger vigilante in one of his weakest moments? Peter came to the conclusion that MJ must have arrived after he fell through the roof. 

“I don’t know why she has that book in her hands though,” Ned questioned. “She finished _Human Bondage_ weeks ago. But still, that’s MJ. You had to have talked to her. 

“So I’m not crazy?” Peter asked skeptically. It was almost too good to be true. 

“No, Peter, you’re not crazy!” Ned said. “No one ever thought you were, not even MJ. Is that why you’ve been avoiding us all week? What’s going on with you?” 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know- I mean, I do know. I know now. But I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“Do about what?” 

Peter paused. He couldn’t keep anymore secrets from Ned. “Okay, so you know how I told you I haven’t been feeling right since the bonfire? And that my aim is off and everything?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay, so the thing is… I’ve lost my spider-sense.”

And with that, Ned lost all sense of calm. “ _What?!_ But you’re Spider—“

Peter threw his hands over Ned’s mouth. “Ned, shh! Someone will hear you!” 

“But you’re Spider-Man!” Ned tried again, speaking softer but sharply. “Your spider-sense is what makes you Spider-Man! How the hell do you lose your sixth sense?” 

“You know, most people can’t even gain a sixth sense without being bitten by a radioactive spider, so chill with the accusing tone, dude,” Peter replied. His head fell in his hands. “God, saying it out loud makes it sound so much worse. What the hell am I going to do?” 

“You’ve gotta tell someone,” Ned said, putting his laptop back into his bag. 

“Who?” 

Ned thought about it. “Probably not May because she would freak out.” 

Peter nodded. “Agreed.” 

“What about Mr. Stark?” 

“I strongly disagree.” 

Ned sighed. “C’mon, Peter! You lose your spider-sense, your friend doesn’t remember talking to you, someone attacks you at school, and you still won’t tell the one adult who deals with this kind of stuff the most?” 

“What do you think he’ll do?” Peter shoved his suit and mask back into his backpack. “It’s ‘below his pay grade.’ He’s just going to say the guy in the hallway was just some bully and shrug me off again, like he always did.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Ned contended. “He’ll listen to you this time. After what happened with Vulture, he’ll listen to you about everything. He made a mistake the last time. A big one. He’ll take you more seriously.” 

“How are you so sure?” 

“Dude, he wanted to make you an Avenger! How much more surer could you get?” 

If Ned were to do all Peter’s thinking for him, Peter believed he would be a lot less stressed out about things. And a lot more decisive too. 

“Fine, I’ll call Happy tonight,” Peter mumbled, coming to a compromise. “Surely he’s more willing to listen to me now too.” 

“Good,” Ned crossed his arms against his chest. “And once you’re done talking to Stark, you’re going to call me and tell me everything, okay?” 

“Okay,” Peter complied. The two of them did their handshake, bumping fists. Peter would never forget; it was so ingrained into his muscle memory that he didn’t even fumble after a week. 

“Now that I’ve helped you with your problems, you’ve gotta help me with mine,” Ned told Peter. 

“... The bird feeder?” 

“Yes.” 

“You know Mr. Hapgood isn’t even going to grade it, right?” 

“I know, but how cool would it be to have a bird feeder?” Ned asked. “There would be so many happy birds just chilling in my front yard. I’d love that.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you would,” Peter replied, “and the birds would love you back.” 

Ned grinned widely. Peter had really missed that smile. Even though Peter didn’t necessarily feel back to normal yet, he was glad his friendship with Ned was. Life seemed a whole lot better with Ned in it. 

\--

After school, Peter stopped by to say hello to Mr. Delmar and his cat, Murph. Mr. Delmar didn’t give Peter too hard of a time for not visiting all last week. Peter chalked it up to all the homework he was swamped with, and Mr. Delmar believed him, thankfully. Mr. Delmar also refrained from hitting on May when he asked how she was doing, which Peter felt was a nice gesture. 

Peter’s night of patrolling went by pretty smoothly. He had stopped a runaway stroller, located a stray dog’s owner, and helped a young women find her Uber driver. Peter wasn’t exactly sure what a 2007 Nissan Versa looked like either, but he tried his best, and after knocking on the windows of three random silver cars, they found the right one. He made sure the young women arrived at her destination safely as well; he could never be too sure of anyone’s intentions, even those of an unsuspecting Uber driver. 

At the end of the night, Peter headed back to the alleyway to find that his backpack was still webbed up against the brick wall. He sighed, relieved. It was always a good end to his night to see his belongings right where he had left them. He changed out of his suit and put his regular clothes back on. Crawling in through his bedroom’s window like normal wasn’t an option tonight. Peter had shut the blinds the night before, and he had forgotten to open them back up in the morning. He didn’t feel like getting all tangled up in them tonight. May wouldn’t be too happy either about needing to buy new window blinds if Peter accidently broke them trying to sneak in. 

So the stairs it was. 

Peter entered their apartment complex, coming in through the revolving doors as they trapped the cool, October winds behind them. The sudden temperature change sent cold chills throughout Peter’s whole body, and he shuddered. As Peter walked up the seven flights of stairs, he grew more and more excited at the thought of finally being home for the night. He couldn’t wait to snuggle up on the couch with a pouch of gummy worms in his lap and an episode Brooklyn Nine-Nine playing in the background as he finished his homework. 

With a bounce in his step, Peter finally came to his floor. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, ready to unlock his and May’s apartment door. 

But when Peter put his hand on the doorknob, it was already unlocked. 

_That’s weird._ May shouldn’t have been home yet. She still had to commute back from work, and she had never forgotten to lock the door on her way out in the morning before. 

He knocked cautiously on the door. “May? Are you already home?” 

There was no answer. 

Peter decided to brave it out and open the door to their apartment. The lights were on, but nothing seemed out of place. Peter had already dealt with one robber lately; surely he could handle another one, right? He still had his web-shooters on too. If there was an intruder, Peter was sure webbing them up would be no problem at all—

Peter stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on the back of someone’s head in their living room. It wasn’t an intruder per say, but Peter was still definitely surprised by a man in a suit jacket sitting on his couch. 

“Mr. Stark? W-what are you doing here?” 

The figure turned around, and Peter’s suspicions were true. 

“Hey, Peter,” Mr. Stark spoke, “how was your chemistry test today?” 

Peter dropped his backpack to the floor and stumbled forward. “It was fine? How did you know about that?”

“Happy told me.”

“But I don’t even remember telling Happy?” Peter questioned. “Wait, where’s May?” 

“She went out to get dinner. She invited me in as she was leaving,” Mr. Stark answered. “Sorry to surprise you. We didn’t think you’d be home yet.” 

“I didn’t think May would be home either,” Peter replied. “Maybe I got her schedule wrong?” 

“Must be,” Mr. Stark replied. He rose from the couch, adjusting the blue-lensed glasses that sat on his nose. Peter always thought wearing sunglass indoors was odd, but leave it to Mr. Stark to exceed his expectations in every way. 

“Why did you say you were here again?” Peter had a million questions for Mr. Stark that night. “Is it about the suit? And downloading its footage?” 

Mr. Stark looked as if he was pondering what Peter had said. Surely that was why he was here; why else would he be? “Yes, that’s it. What you did was very wrong, Peter.” 

“Really? We didn’t mean anything bad by it, I didn’t know—” Peter stopped himself. Excuses wouldn’t work. Peter had to be mature about this. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. You’re not going to take the suit away, are you?” 

Mr. Stark looked like he was actually considering it. Peter was astonished. _Seriously? All I did was download Karen’s footage? I didn’t take the tracker out, and I didn’t even try saving a ferry all by myself—_

“No, that’s not necessary.” Mr. Stark waved him off. It was as if Mr. Stark had wanted to see him sweat. Peter hated it. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Peter breathed. He headed into the kitchen to give himself some space. “Hey, do you want anything to drink? I think we have water and… that’s about it, actually.” 

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Mr. Stark replied. He followed Peter into the kitchen. _Dammit._

Peter grabbed a water bottle from their fridge. He felt the need to chug it from the stress bubbling up within him. Why was Mr. Stark here? He wouldn’t even give Peter a straight answer, and that wasn’t like him. Peter rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Something wrong?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Hmm?” 

“Your neck— does it hurt?” 

Peter shrugged. “No, I… I mean, a mosquito bit me there a few weeks ago. The bump doesn’t seem to be going away. It doesn’t itch, though.” 

“You sure that’s what it is then?” 

“...What do you mean?” 

“Are you sure that it’s just a mosquito bite?” 

Peter laughed nervously. “What else would it be?” 

Mr. Stark just raised his eyebrows at him. _What the— since when was Mr. Stark ever this cryptic?_

Peter heard keys jangling and the apartment front door opening. He muttered an ‘excuse me’ to Mr. Stark before rushing over to greet May, thankful for the opportunity to get away from the kitchen. Maybe Mr. Stark would speak frankly with May in the room, although that didn’t make sense to Peter either. Mr. Stark and Peter were usually in the business of keeping secrets from May. _What’s going on with him?_

“May?” Peter met her at the doorway. “Oh, good, it’s you.” 

“You haven’t ran over to me coming home from work in years,” May said. “What’s up with that?” 

“I was going to help you carry in dinner,” Peter answered. 

“Dinner?” May chuckled. “The only dinner we’re having are leftovers in the fridge.” 

“But Mr. Stark said you went out to get some?” 

“Mr. Stark? That man is here?” May frowned. “You know I don’t like him. Why did you let him in?” 

“He said that you let him in?” Peter was beyond confused. “He’s right in the kitchen—” 

Peter turned around to point out Mr. Stark, but his heart dropped to his stomach. 

Mr. Stark wasn’t there. 

“No, no, no, no, _no._ ” Peter panicked. He ran into the other rooms of their apartment, his eyes burning as he looked around, but he only saw that each room was as empty as they were before. Peter ended up back in the kitchen, his shoulders sagging. 

“Peter, what are you—” 

_“Don’t say it!_ Don’t ask me what I’m talking about!” Peter shouted at May, fuming. Hot tears stained his cheeks. “I- I don't understand. He was right here! I was talking to him, and he was talking to me, and… I…” 

Peter collapsed to the floor. 

“Not again,” Peter choked out between his sobs, pulling his knees to his chest. “Oh, god, not again.” 

May rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around his trembling body. Peter just wanted to bawl his eyes out; he was so scared. 

“Peter, I believe you,” she whispered into his curls. “I believe you.” 

Peter’s head was spinning. He knew May didn’t believe him. She was just saying that to make him feel better. There was something _wrong_ with him, and he knew it. He had tried to convince himself otherwise before, but this had really proved it. 

“He was here, he was here... but he wasn’t?” Peter spoke to himself, his voice rising. He was gasping for air. It was so hard for him to breathe. “Are— _May, are you even here?”_

“I’m right here, Peter.” May told him, brushing his fringe out of his face. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” 

Peter’s voice broke. “I’m crazy, May— I’m going insane—”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re _not._ We’ll call Mr. Stark tomorrow. Let’s just calm down, okay?” 

“I don’t— I don’t know what’s real anymore,” Peter confessed, his chest heaving as more terror set in by saying it out loud. 

“You’re right here in the kitchen, Peter,” she told him. She hugged him tighter. “You’re with me. It’s just me and you. You’re all right. You’re safe.” 

Peter took a deep breath and let it out. He saw that he was in the kitchen. He saw that he was sat on the tiled floor with its dirty grout lines that him and May had planned on cleaning during his autumn break from school. He saw the white refrigerator that May still hung his artwork from elementary school on. He saw the stove he heated up canned soup on, and he saw the sink that was always full of dishes. 

“I’m in the kitchen,” Peter repeated. 

May rubbed circles on his back. “Yes, you are.” 

“I’m with you,” Peter told himself. He reached out for May’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “You’re really here.” 

“You’re okay, Peter,” May assured him again. “You’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.” 

\--

Peter didn’t go to school the next day. 

May even took the day off work, which Peter adamantly protested when she told him at 6 a.m as he was half-asleep on their couch. The two of them had spent the rest of the night watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine-Nine with Peter lying in May’s lap as she ran her fingers mindlessly through his hair to keep him calm. 

He felt a little embarrassed; he had never broken down like that in front of May before. Sure, he had let a few tears fall over the years, but nothing ever like what had happened last night. And now May had to pick up all the pieces. He hated himself, hated that he was making her do that. Now she had to deal with a 15 year-old who sees people who aren’t really there. Peter was sure he had told May sorry at least 10 times that night. 

Early in the morning, Peter overheard May on the phone with someone he assumed was Happy. Peter didn’t eavesdrop too much; he was too exhausted to do so. But soon enough, May got him up off the couch, forced him to take a shower and get dressed, and then he was on his way out of their apartment and getting into a car with Happy in the driver’s seat. 

Peter zoned out most of the way to the Avenger’s upstate facility. Blurs of dying green flew past as he stared aimlessly out of the car’s window. He was tired and freezing, but he didn’t want to ask Happy to turn on the heater, so he snuggled up as best as he could in the backseat of the car, trying to find more warmth in his olive green jacket. Happy didn’t speak to Peter the whole ride there, which Peter was grateful for. 

_After what May told him, he probably thinks I’m crazy too. That makes three of us now._

Peter guessed that Happy probably enjoyed the silence as well; Peter was sure Happy hadn’t heard Peter ever be this quiet before. As relaxing as it was not having to deal with a talkative teenager, his now quiet habits only proved to Happy that something was up with him, Peter thought.

_Great. They’ll send me to the loony bin for sure now._

The drive was over all too quickly, and the realization of where Peter was at had finally set in. Happy was taking him to see Mr. Stark. _Shit._ Peter began to panic. He would have to tell Mr. Stark everything and he hadn’t even practiced it in his head on the drive here and Mr. Stark was going to judge him for sure and he’ll take the suit back and—

“We’re here,” Happy told Peter after opening his door. “C’mon, let’s get out the car.” 

Peter did as Happy said, and Happy guided him into the facility. Peter had been here once before, but last time was on a much happy note. Peter doubted Mr. Stark would ever want to make him an Avenger now; Peter was too much of a liability. 

The corridors were mainly empty as they entered the building. The large windows would have brought a warmth to the grey-toned walls and floors, but the cloudy day only made the building seem colder. Peter shoved his hands deep into his pockets. 

“Tony’s in there,” Happy commented as they came to a stop, pointing to the room with his thumb. “I’ll be in the car to take you back.” 

Peter nodded in acknowledgement as he watched Happy walk away. Peaking around the corner of the doorway, Peter saw that Mr. Stark sure was in there, tinkering away with something set on top of a lab table. Peter began pacing outside the doorway. Mr. Stark looked busy. Peter didn’t want to annoy him. He should just go home—

Peter caught Happy’s eye at the end of the hallway. Happy mouthed a “Get in there!” at Peter. Peter knew he couldn’t bother Happy any longer, so Peter reluctantly moved his feet and entered Mr. Stark’s lab. 

Mr. Stark kept his lab pretty neat and clean, spare for the few circles of coffee stains scattered about his lab wherever he would set down his old Stark Industries mug. Hues of blue and green from computers and their monitors colored the otherwise black space. Mr. Stark looked up when he heard the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor. He gave a soft smile to Peter. 

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark greeted. He stood up from his spot of hunching over the lab table and straightened his dark blue sweater. “You skipping school today?” 

“Hey- hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. Now that he was closer, he saw that Mr. Stark was working on the right-hand gauntlet to one of his Iron Man suits. Peter wondered why he didn’t have Dum-E or F.R.I.D.A.Y do the repairs or upgrades on it. Maybe Mr. Stark truly needed the peace that came along with tinkering. Peter could understand that. “And yeah, I guess I kinda am skipping.” 

“For a good reason, though.” Mr. Stark stated, looking Peter straight in the eye. Peter appreciated that Mr. Stark hadn’t formed it as a question; he understood the weight of the situation. 

“So you heard what happened?” Peter asked. “Did May tell you?” 

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you,” Mr. Stark replied. He set down his tools and took a seat in a chair nearby. He motioned for Peter to come closer. 

“Okay, but it’s weird,” Peter warned, hoisting himself up to sit on the lab table. He hoped it was okay, and judging by the indifferent look on Mr. Stark’s face, Peter assumed he didn’t mind. Having his feet swinging about would make Peter feel a bit better; he could fidget that way in case things got too much. 

“I’m good with weird.” Mr. Stark shrugged. “I deal with weird all day.” 

Peter fumbled with his thumbs in his lap. “Okay, well… you were at my apartment last night.” 

Mr. Stark cross his arms, tilting his head down but still looking up at Peter. “Okay, what did I do?” 

“You were acting really strange,” Peter answered. “You wouldn’t tell me why you were really there, and you almost threatened to take the suit away. Then you said some odd stuff about a mosquito bite I have, and then you disappeared.” 

“Mosquito bite?” 

_What is so interesting about it?_ “Yeah, I was at a bonfire. Ned and I forgot to bring bug spray. It happens.” Peter reached around to feel the bump underneath his skin.

“How long ago was this?” 

“Two weeks.” 

Mr. Stark furrowed his brows. “And you still have it?”

“Yeah?”

Mr. Stark shook his head, getting up from his chair. “You shouldn’t.” 

“Well, there’s a lot of stuff that shouldn’t have happened in the past two weeks, so…” 

“Like what?” 

“For one thing… I don’t have my spider-sense anymore.” 

Mr. Stark’s mouth fell open. “You lose your spider-sense and you don’t tell me? You don’t tell Happy?” Mr. Stark’s voice rose, and Peter cringed. He couldn’t handle a lecture. Peter wanted to ramble on a bunch of excuses, but he tried his best to hold back. 

“Like I said, a lot of stuff has happened!” Peter said. “Someone attacked me at school and they know I’m Spider-Man, and this girl I like doesn’t remember talking to me, and so then I thought I imagined it, but Karen has it on footage that she was there, but then the same thing happened last night with you, so now I don’t know what to think anymore.” 

_So much for not rambling._

“Kid, you’ve got to say something when these things happen,” Mr. Stark told him as calmly as he could. 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t listen to me last time I said something.” 

Mr. Stark fell silent. Even though Mr. Stark had apologized before, Peter had a hard time letting go of this grudge. Peter knew he should just drop it, but the words had already come out of his mouth. Peter rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Mr. Stark took notice the same way not-Mr. Stark had. 

“Let me look,” Mr. Stark said. Peter turned and he felt Mr. Stark’s hands near his hairline on his neck. Mr. Stark breathed deeply out of his nose, muttering _shit_ under his breath. 

“That’s not a mosquito bite,” Mr. Stark said, staring sternly at Peter. 

“That’s what not-you said too.” 

“Kid, there’s something in your neck.” 

_"What?"_ Peter gasped. “Get it the hell out then!” 

Mr. Stark turned around to rummage through some drawers, and Peter hoped it was something to get whatever was in his neck out of there. Peter didn’t care that Mr. Stark probably wasn’t the most qualified person to do so, but in that moment Peter trusted him enough, and Peter couldn’t stand thinking that there had been something stuck in him for _weeks_ for any longer. 

“This might sting a little bit,” Mr. Stark came back to Peter with a tool Peter had never seen before and _oh my god, is that a scalpel in his other hand?_

Peter went to move away from him, and Mr. Stark stopped immediately. He saw Peter glaring at the tools in hands. Peter didn’t know why he was so scared. He had gotten beaten to within an inch of his life before by Vulture; why did a knife scare him so suddenly?

“It’s nano-tech,” Mr. Stark clarified. “I’ve been working with it lately. No blood.” 

“No blood?” 

Mr. Stark nodded. “It’ll take 5 seconds. Tops.” 

“Okay, okay,” Peter consented. “I’m fine. I’m ready. Just do it.” 

Mr. Stark went ahead with Peter’s permission, and Peter heard a soft buzzing. He winced at the slight stinging, but it took about 5 seconds, just like Mr. Stark had said. Mr. Stark pulled away, and Peter reached for his neck. There was no more bump, and he didn’t feel a single drop of blood on his fingers. 

Mr. Stark held what look liked a small computer chip in front of his face. 

“That was in me? Gross.” Peter was stunned. “What is it? A tracker?” 

“Maybe,” Mr. Stark replied. He brought it over to his workstation across the room. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, can you analyze this?” 

A glowing blue hologram of the piece of tech hovered above Mr. Stark’s desk. Mr. Stark flipped it every which way, looking it over intensely. 

“Looks like it’s emitting a frequency, boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s rang out across the room, “the same frequency as Peter’s spider-sense.”

“That’s what’s messing with your spider-sense,” Mr. Stark said, rubbing his goatee. “Someone’s trying to control it.” 

“Seriously?” Peter asked. “I mean, that would make sense. I wasn’t feeling like myself around the same time as the bonfire, but why would someone want to do that?” 

“To use you,” Mr. Stark answered. He fiddled with the chip in his hand. “Or to beat you, to kill you— the list goes on. You said someone attacked you at school?” 

“Yeah, but I hit them with my web-shooters,” Peter added. “They had a weird face too. It was like they didn’t even a face at all.” 

“I doubt it’s someone at school trying to get you,” Mr. Stark said. “And sorry kid, I don’t have high hopes that some classmate of yours made this tech either.” 

“You could be wrong about that, Mr. Stark,” Peter implied, crossing his arms. “Our robotics team was first in state; we’ve got some pretty smart people hanging around school.” 

“Well, what did you do to piss on of them off?” Mr. Stark questioned. He shook his head. “Nothing, right? That’s what I’m saying; it’s someone else. Something else.” 

Peter saw the look of concern plastered across Mr. Stark’s face. Peter hated that he was worrying him. Mr. Stark didn’t have a lead or a motive, nothing to go on except a piece of tech that rendered Peter’s spider-sense useless. How could Peter protect himself if neither of them knew who was attacking him? How could Mr. Stark sleep at night knowing someone was out to hurt Peter, even at school where he was supposed to be the safest? 

“Can we turn that thing off?” Peter asked, taking the tech from Mr. Stark. “That’s a start, right? So I can get my spider-sense back? Maybe whatever that thing is doing to me, a side effect is hallucinations?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mr. Stark said. “I’d still like to have F.R.I.D.A.Y run some tests on it first.” 

Peter turned the piece of tech over in his hands. “Hey, it has a switch right here, actually.”

“Kid, wait—!”

As soon as Peter flipped the switch, his body went rigid. Peter doubled-over and fell off the lab table. Mr. Stark rushed over to catch him before he hit the floor. 

A tingling sensation flooded his veins, but it wasn’t like any ordinary tingle of his spider-sense. Peter couldn’t move.

_No, no, not again—_

It was another sensory overload like the night of the bonfire but a hundred times worse. A piercing shrill was screeching in his ears, and it felt like thousands of flaming hot needles were stabbing his body, over and over. Peter had never been in so much pain before in his life. Peter couldn’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut, tears escaping as he yelled in agony. 

“Make it stop!” Peter cried out. _“Make it stop!”_

Peter heard the whine of the Iron Man guantlet’s repulsor firing, and soon enough the feeling stopped. Peter couldn’t help but let out a sob as the feeling stopped so suddenly. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, shut off the power to the lab!” Mr. Stark commanded, hoping the lack of stimuli would help Peter calm down from being so overwhelmed. Every light, computer, and monitor turned itself off, and the room became completely dark as Mr. Stark rested Peter on the floor on his side.

“Pete?” Mr. Stark kneeled down next to him. “Kid, say something.”

Peter slowly rolled over onto his back, exhaling faster than he could take in air. He coughed and gasped as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes met with Mr. Stark’s panic-stricken face. “I- I don’t think that was the off switch, Mr. Stark.” 

“No, I don’t think so either,” Mr. Stark replied, sniffing his nose as he tried to keep himself together. “More like an on switch. It’s nothing but a pile of ash on the floor now.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said softly. Mr. Stark laid down on the floor next to Peter, sick with guilt of what had just happened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” 

Mr. Stark shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” 

But Peter knew it was. Even though Peter didn’t design the antagonizing tech, he was the one dumb enough the flip the switch without Mr. Stark running tests on it first. And now that it was disintegrated on the floor from the repulsor blast, they had lost their only chance at revealing the answers it held to Peter’s problems. Peter had royally messed up. Again. 

And Mr. Stark should be pissed at him. 

“I can’t do anything right, Mr. Stark.” 

“Don’t you do that to yourself,” Mr. Stark said sternly. “That does more harm than good, and I know that more than anyone. We’ll figure this out.” 

Both May and Mr. Stark had now said that to him, but Peter didn’t feel any sense of comfort that usually came with it. The two adults in his life that cared about him the most were on his side, but Peter felt so alone. 

Peter turned toward Mr. Stark, seeing the remnants of fear on his pale face. Mr. Stark was probably just as scared as Peter was as it was happening, maybe even more so. It wasn’t every day that a 15 year-old kid writhed in pain in his arms. Mr. Stark breathed heavily next to him, his chest rising and falling deeply. Peter had probably just given the man a panic attack. _I’m so sorry._

Peter tried to pull himself up from the floor, but his arms gave out underneath him. Mr. Stark reached out to him. 

“Just lay here, kid,” Mr. Stark told him, pushing him back down by his shoulder. “Let's just lay here for a minute while we get our shit together.” 

Peter nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a good plan.” 

Happy found the two of them later, almost tripping over their legs as he searched the room. 

“I’ve been waiting for ages—” Happy stopped himself short when he saw Peter using his jacket as a pillow for his head on the tiled floor. “What are you two doing— napping? While I’ve been freezing my ass off waiting in the car? What the hell is wrong with you guys?” 

“So many things, Happy,” Mr. Stark answered, not moving an inch. “Where would you like us to start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I'm back and with another 9,746 words!! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! Let me know what you guys think by leaving a comment below! 
> 
> I'm so excited to write the next chapter of Dissembled! I'm so thankful for everyone who has been reading Dissembled so far, it means so much to me!! You guys don't know how happy it makes me feel!! 
> 
> as always, come say hi to me on tumblr at [mismatchingsocks!](http://mismatchingsocks.tumblr.com)


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